


Ouroboros

by KiwiePoe



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Rose Tyler, Canon Rewrite, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Doomsday, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Eventual Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, F/M, Post!Doomsday, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, Tenth Doctor Era, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Reunion, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 135,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiePoe/pseuds/KiwiePoe
Summary: They were meant to be forever. But how does the Doctor find his Rose in the sea of visions of all there is, all there was, and all there ever will be? As Rose learns to take the slow road with the rest of her loved ones, she discovers that regeneration wasn't the only consequence of sucking in the Time Vortex. Now dealing with her own inhuman issues, she must wait for him to find his way back to her so they can deal with the true death of the universe, once and for all.Trailer from 2007 http://youtube.com/watch?v=bsC0DPsGXAwFormally Ouroborus.
Relationships: Eighth Doctor/Grace Holloway, Ninth Doctor/Grace Holloway, Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones, Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Martha Jones, Tenth Doctor/Original Character(s), Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler | Bad Wolf, The Doctor (Doctor Who) & Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am the original author of this PostDoomstay AU novel, which was originally hosted at fanfiction.net (Now removed) in 2007 and whofic.com not long after. I suppose I should say why I have chosen to remove this story in it’s previous format on certain sites and rework it. If I could get into whofic.com to delete or update I would.
> 
> As I have spent more time over the years writing and researching story and structure, I have grown more comfortable in reflecting on past work and take responsibility of it. Therefore a choice was made, a choice to give back some of the original content, to explore some of the topics I was too afraid would push fans away (for my own gratification), and to write better, more purple women, and of course grammatical errors.
> 
> This is the final manuscript of this novel long forgotten on many fanfiction sites, and before I can move on to different fandoms, and explore other ideas I needed to give this, my first achievement the love it deserves.
> 
> My only regret was that it took me this long.
> 
> Enjoy.

  


_In the beginning…_

_Once upon a time…_

He blinks.

His mouth agape ever so slightly, he blinks again.

It’s when his jaw begins to open and close on its own as if he has lost all control over it (just like the old gate that didn’t work at the entrance of Shireen’s flat) she realizes he’s stumped. She worries about drool getting all over his leather jacket and thinks that he looks somewhat like a fish out of water.

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is if time is not a definitive stream from beginning to end, how can you be so sure? I have my time stream, you have yours, Jack has his, and so on. We all connect but don’t mesh, ya know? Like, people who live their lives simultaneous to us, we may meet in the middle, but we may be their past when it’s our future.” Rose smiles as she searches his bright blue eyes. Blue eyes for the man with the blue box.

“So that got me wonderin’ how do the Daleks wipe out an entire planet and civilization from time and space completely? There’s no alteration on the time stream, nowhere else they could be? Just like, after I watched them Star Wars movies again, the whole ‘long time ago in a galaxy far away’ I started thinkin’, you may be over 900 years old, but have you even been born yet? Have you already died? Though I guess that’s not important since your planet is gone. So, why are you still around when everyone else is not? Doctor?”

He does drool, just a little, and when he does, he closes his mouth and pretends that it never happened. She finds he’s extremely good at that. He steps closer to her, with those blue eyes so intense and still has difficulty telling if he is angry or puzzled.

She never lowers her gaze, while standing her ground, and is unable to tell if she is supposed to. Especially these days. These days melt together, days that have no beginning or end themselves. Before she has time to second-guess herself any further, he breaks.

“You’re human Rose, you wouldn’t comprehend.” He finally says before bowing his head and turning from her.

She hates that excuse. It just reminds her of a parent who refuses to see past their child’s adolescent naivety to trust them.

“Then, Doctor, explain it to me.” She says, feeling entirely justified and entitled to his tutorship.

“I can’t!” He says, with a sort of exasperated sigh, throwing the wrench he had picked up a few seconds ago. It creates a tinkering sound on the grated floor. He then turns towards the console and begins to fiddle around with dials and baubles. It helps calm him, something she has learned on their travels together.

“You can’t because you’re not sure.” is her blunt reply, and she licks her teeth with a smugness that comes with her blatant naivety. It’s a naivety that she doesn’t realize she still has, one that she so fervently denies existing, and yet it’s there, nonetheless.

It is this naivety that draws him in like a moth to a flame, one that rubs off on him if he allows it too. It doesn’t work this time because he misses it, he still has yet to look her way.

“I can’t...” he begins, “because it’s not tangible, it doesn’t work that. It’s feelings, it’s knowledge, it’s a language unto its own.” He continues to work on the TARDIS with a new device, ignoring the tension that hangs like a thick fog. She walks over slowly, almost timidly as though she may send him into a rage at any given moment.

“Teach me.” She says, touching his arm lightly, hoping it will get a reaction out of him. Sometimes she feels as if she’s creating a little movie, a short scene within a play. She tries to figure out what the dialogue is, so she can manipulate the situation the way she wants. It’s a little melodramatic, but it’s hers. She knows that it’s an even harder game to play with him because he’s so unpredictable.

Looking up at her, he is resigned. Those bright blue eyes stare right down and through her sending chills up her spine.

“You’ll never be ready.”

He then turns back to the TARDIS, and she drops her hand from his arm, feeling as though she has been burned.

This is not how she expected him to respond.

She had expected anger, she hoped some snide ape comment. This is not how the narrative is supposed to go, this isn’t her happily ever after, but she is determined to work with it, to mould it, show him that she has some control.

“You’re afraid.” She says matter-of-factly. Yet, this time, she shows no sign of smugness or subtle teasing. She catalogues this as fact; She’s human. He’s alien. They’re in a spaceship that travels through time and space, and he is afraid.

If her tone sparks anything inside him, she cannot tell and scarcely hears it when he replies, “Of what?” with a bravado that says so much more than his words. She takes note of the patronizing slight in his tone that tells her nothing and everything.

She is sure he is calling her a stupid ape.

And yet, what she says next, she has no inkling of where it comes from, but just like she knows he’s frightened, she knows it to be a truth.

“Of it changin’ me.”

~***~

* * *

She sits on a swing that she has never sat on before, yet still knows all too well, as she looks up at the sky. Too many dirigibles here, that’s the problem with this place, when she first saw it, she found it fascinating. Still, she soon realized that it was only because of the shock. Like a child who grew up in a valley who moves to flat plains, the novelty drops away. Now they obscure the sky, shaping the skyline and blocking the light of the stars. However, tonight is not one of those nights, tonight the sky is illuminated with bright twinkling. This is why she just followed the second star to the right and ended up here.

To say she had been just passing and nostalgia hit her would be a lie. She has deliberately sought this playground out, taking two tubes and a taxi just to get here. Half a block away, she can see the light on in the room that was hers, a long time ago, in a galaxy far away.

She slowly breathes out, the steam leaving her mouth, her hands wrapped around the icy chains that hold her seat up. Leaning back, she begins her journey of going forwards and backwards, higher, and higher, as she pumps her legs. Higher and higher she flies, getting closer and closer to her goal, but always falling backwards away from it. She can’t quite reach, though they shimmer brightly taunting her to grasp them in her fingers, beckoning her to come back and live among them. Tears stream freely down her cheeks. She feels herself getting closer to them and then being pulled away, repetitive motion for a repetitive feeling. She lets her feet drag against the ground, kicking up gravel in her wake, slowly causing her to slow down. When she finally stops, her eyes are dry, and she embraces the numbing cold that is creeping into her cheeks and hands.

She will never come back here again.

~***~

* * *

They are running from a hoard of Anthaxphalthorians when it occurs to him, it’s an excellent thing that they have tiny legs, the Anthaxphalthorians that is, because if he had short legs, then they may be in quite a pickle. He also chooses now to make a mental note not to insult the king Anthaxphalthorians’ mother the next time they come to visit.

He didn’t realize at the time that she was his mother, or that a nod of his head was considered the most profound disrespect.

Live and learn.

Running away from them, he runs accidentally into a small red-haired girl in the marketplace. He looks back at her and apologizes with a laugh, as she stares at him in shock, but it’s another girl’s voice that draws him back to the situation.

“Doctor! Hurry!” she cries with a chuckle, her dark hair flying around her face, a bright white smile adorning her face before she turns to focus on moving forward, and he continues on his way, trying to catch up to her.

In less than two minutes, they are around a corner and a significant distance away from trouble. It is there that they come to a halt.

His companion bends down and places her hands on her knees of her cargo pants. Her sweater’s sleeves are so long that they cover most of her hands, her dark fingers peeking out from behind the dusty pink cable knit. He takes in her image while he cradles the small of his back, both of them are gasping for air. No less than thirty seconds later, she stands back up, spry again. Her left brow lifts only a millimetre when she asks, “Ready for another go?”

He breaks into a grin, a grin that would devour his entire face if it were genetically possible, and before he realizes it, she’s already ahead of him, and he has to push harder to catch up.

They are like the wind, and when he reaches for her hand, he barely notices the fit isn’t quite right, that their shoulders bump, and eventually they have to let go. Maybe it’s the height difference, or perhaps it’s that she’s faster on her feet. He doesn’t dwell on it. After all, he would go crazy if he did.

He doesn’t deny her; she deserves her dance as well.

He mostly doesn’t think of Rose.

Mostly.

~***~

* * *

He doesn’t sleep.

He doesn’t sleep, and he doesn’t dream.

Technically, he knows that this is not fact, but it’s been so long since he has slept that he forgets that Time Lords do indeed need to regenerate their bodies through a process of rest. But it’s like a hibernation period.

Sleep was a brief and infrequent hibernation period.

So, when he does fall asleep against the console with a book in his hand, he doesn’t realize it. He doesn’t even know he’s dreaming as he runs through a pantomime of the day’s events. The angry Anthaxphalthorians are there, and he is smiling, and they are all running, skipping even, hop, hop hopping for their lives. He makes it to the part where he bumped into the little red-headed girl before noticing anything awry. Their eyes lock for the briefest of seconds, and he sees her eyes glowing amber. A wolf howls and he turns back to run with his companion, but it’s then he notices she’s nowhere to be found. Frantically, he turns back to the fiery girl only to find she has vanished from the market. He wakes when the Anthaxphalthorians tackle him to the soft ground.

That is when it all began.


	2. Trapped

She walks up the path to her mother and Pete's residence when she can already hear Christmas carols and laughter, and it's almost enough to cause her to turn around and run. Outside, the cold bites her cheeks and fingers, and she shoves the latter deeper into her pockets, wishing now she hadn't been too stubborn for mitts. Reaching the front door, she pauses before ringing. She wonders who's on shift tonight and whether or not she will receive a sneer, or a jab, or both. Most of the household servants never liked her, which was fine because she never really fancied any of them. They were hired following their journey to Norway after she became more reclusive.

"What's the point in bein' rich Rose, if you don't live a little?" Jackie had once asked her, her tummy showing, heels resting on a pillow. Rose had sighed and massaged her feet, knowing better than to argue.

It's to her relief that a lady she doesn't recognize answers. The servant smiles briefly before moving to the side to let her in. She returns the grin and enters, undoing her coat and handing it to the young woman. It's then that she hears her mother's howling.

"Party in full swing then, no?" she asks.

"Your aunt and uncle are expecting you, Miss Tyler. They are waiting in the den," the servant says, bowing her head. She escorts her away from the entrance. She feels the urge to roll her eyes at the gesture but refrains. She's learning how to be polite again.

She shuffles down the oak corridor and past the main room, following the sound of merriment until she reaches the den. Standing in the door's frame, she sees Mickey and Jake already lounging on the large leather couches. Pete's giggling and rubbing her mum's belly across from them. It's a scene of perfect domestic bliss. The room is warm and inviting, and she is a little disappointed with herself that her first reaction at the sight of it, is once again, to run away.

It's Mickey who notices her first.

"Rose!" He beckons.

She watches as all eyes fall on her, and she resists thinking she's being judged, swallowed alive by their accusations. She pacifies herself from the feeling of curling up into a ball and forces a smile to adorn her lips.

"Rose dear! You're so pale! Come inside where it's nice and warm. We have a cuppa waitin' for ya." Her mother states as she approaches with Pete in tow.

"You really should have let me sent the car around for you," Pete says, clutching her shoulders and awkwardly drawing her close. Whether it's for a hug or a better look at her, she's not too sure, but her dower mood motivates her to think of several sharp and terribly ungrateful things to say to him.

She rejects her instincts, "I like walking. It calms me."

His grin wavers because he is the only one other than Mickey who might understand. Pete is who Rose first went to when the stirrings started. It was Pete who booked her an appointment with a physician, and it was he who she could trust because he was still felt like a perfect stranger.

She beams at Pete with all the sincerity she can muster, not meaning to sound how he obviously took it. She pulls him close into an embrace and watches Mickey's expression cast concern over Pete's shoulder. He is worried; she can perceive his fear. It smells of sugar and spice, which makes the weight in her stomach shift and her spine tingle. She grins reassuringly at him in hopes he'll calm down. She has plenty to deal with; she doesn't need Mickey alarmed; it will only lead to things better left alone.

After Pete releases her, her mum bounces to her, murmuring about how she'll never understand why Rose moved out only three weeks earlier. Rose thinks that that is plausibly the one thing they will ever agree on.

That her mum will never understand.

Dinner is served, and they move to the dining room before the typical rhetoric begins. The group sit and talk of Torchwood and politics, two conversation subjects that bore Rose to death. The swirling of her soup fascinates her more than Pete's concerns about running for the President of England, and that's all the family discusses once they're sated from playing twenty questions about her new job.

Do you have a nice office?

Yes.

Are they letting you pull your own weight?

Yes.

Have you been able to help them at all?

No.

They don't ask the one thing they really don't want to know the answer to, and she is glad she isn't forced to lie.

Later, after dinner is finished, Rose relaxes in front of the fireplace with a gin glass in her hand. She never used to like the vile liquid; thought it tasted like Pine-Sol or some other disinfectant. But recently, Rose has thought of just getting it all said and done with, and the taste makes her believe she can pretend it's cleaner, and she could just lay down for a nap she'll never wake up from. She recognizes she will never exercise these dark fantasies; she finds it helpful to pretend and make little scenes every once and a while.

Like she did when they were together.

_After a recent jaunt, they are convening in the TARDIS, where Rose was offered marriage by the local prince charming. And sure, she found it flattering, maybe even toyed with the idea, tempted to use it against him to spark some jealousy. The only thing is that with this regeneration, she's not too sure he wouldn't just leave her there. She thought she knew him, but after Sarah and Reinette, she realized there's more to the Doctor than just adventures and fun. There's also death, or worse… being left behind._

_"That was a rather eventful day," she tells him, tearing off her sneakers and letting the water splashed in them drain out._

_"Well, that's what happens when you visit archaic worlds still bent on a hierarchy system. The golden age has come and gone. When will they ever learn?" He says, hanging his soaked trench-coat over the railing near the console. He shakes his head like a puppy, and she feels her heart stir, the urge to reach up and run her hands through his hair._

_"I think it's rather magical. Like some sorta fairy tale." The cadence in her voice too high. She bites her lower lip and hopes he'll meet her gaze. She shivers, telling herself it is because her entire body soaked from swimming to the TARDIS sitting in the middle of a pristine lake. She tries to shut the image of him, continuing to remove the rest of his suit from her mind. She is sure he's forgotten that she was his nurse and helped her mother get him into his jammies last Christmas._

_"Well, that is what I meant by the golden age Rose, those days have come and gone. Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, The Princess and the Pea… all of them." He adds nonchalantly, and she closes the gap between them, her hands reaching up. She senses his body hesitate before he relaxes under her finger's ministrations. When she is this close, she thinks she can feel both his heartbeats. When she is this close, her skin begins to burn everywhere that she feels his breath touches. Her breathe catches in her throat._

_"So," She starts, her voice much softer, something she keeps finding happening to her more frequently than she cares to admit. "You're telling me that the entire time we were out there, that had been the place of Cinderella, Red Riding Hood… Hans the Hedgehog?" She queries. He's looking down his nose at her, and she realizes that when she was speaking, his hands somehow managed to make their way to her sides. The silence between this moment stretches forever, and she doesn't know when the last time she remembered to breathe in was._

_Then just like that, he's on the other side of the console, hopping around while throwing levers and pushing as many buttons as possible. "Well, maybe not Hans, but the rest! And who do you think took the Brothers Grimm there? Guess! Just guess! I'll give you two hints… It was a Time Lord… Okay, ready for your second clue?" He is wearing the face he has come to use when he wants to pretend he doesn't know why she is disappointed. This is not the first time they've been alone in a_ **_moment_ ** _. They live together on this ship, after all._

_"Oh come now Rose, don't pout!" he sighs, seeing her evident distress. The tone of his voice tells her his walls are already solidly in place once more._

_"Why didn't you tell me?" she questions him, her arms across her breasts covering her unmistakable chill. She feels small, insignificant under his gaze. A really, REALLY handsome stranger had offered her anything her heart desired not more than an hour ago. But only one person could ever give her that. And he was staring at her with a blank dumb stare, a stare she is growing to increasingly hate._

_"I forgot?" he says, more like a question, hoping this will work on her. She realizes they have two completely different arguments happening right now. The verbal one seems inane and silly that she is genuinely angry at him because he failed to communicate with her. Then there was their argument they both knew which was much more significant—his failure to communicate with her._

_"How could you forget something like that! 'Cheerio Rose, lovely place here, let's take a look around, have a cuppa with the locals, get into the thick of it, come out on top… oh and by the by, this is the place of all your childhood fantasies!'" She shouts at him, her hands finding their way animatedly up in the air. She watches his expression change from blank numbness to be very serious, contemplating what she has just said._

_"Rose…" he says, with a voice that resembles slight disappointment, "I would never say Cheerio." He then beams brightly at her and goes back to bouncing around the TARDIS with energy that has a tendency to bubble and froth over into her. Not this time, though, and he soon realizes it when he smiles maniacally at her, and she stands there, soaking wet still, the chill settling in. They were always so close, she knows he shines his light on her more than anyone else, but she always feels cold when she ends up in his shadow._

_"What does it matter? It's not like we can't go during that time period later. I just thought…"_

_"No, it's fine," She snaps, her hand raised to silence him, and he jumps back a fraction. She realizes she has a modicum of power in their balance, that he fears her anger and disappointment as well. Good, she finds herself thinking._

_"I just… I was surprised." And she is, after all, how is he supposed to know about how influential those fairytales are to her. What they meant to her as a child. "Once upon a time" and "happily ever after" were ideals she used to fantasize about while her life had been wasting away. It was what had sparked her to leave Mickey for Jimmy Stone in the first place._

_"Ugh, and that BOY, gushing all over you like that, 'I would be honoured, Miss Rose.' 'Your name suits you, Miss Rose.' 'Miss Rose, let me get that for you, a lady should never have to carry her own torch through the Pit of Incomparable.'" He says, going back to playing with many buttons and levers. "Incomparable to what? I wanted to ask. Size? Evil? Smell? Bunny holes? Honestly, be more clear with your national landmarks."_

_"I dunno, it was kinda nice to have a bloke be courteous towards me," she says, more to herself than him, while holding her elbow. Her other hand traces patterns in the dust-covered console._

_"Oi! I'm courteous, I'm the Captain of the Courteous team!" he exclaims indignantly, to which it is her turn to stare at him blankly._

_"Alright, maybe not Captain. How about the player who's been benched for the entire season and gets put in the game at the last minute to score the winning point, goal, etc.? eh? Rose? The winning goal?"_

_"Participation trophy," she states, attempting to suppress a smile. She leans into his field of vision, her back to the console, her way of trying to re-establish their boundaries._

_Hands-check._

_Hugs-check._

_Breathing each other in, the jury was still out._

_He stares with a pained expression, pouting as he turns away from her and back to his beloved TARDIS' machinery._

_"I didn't realize that was something you needed." His voice is unusually raw._

_"I never said I did. I said it was just nice." She announces, flustered, getting frustrated and a bit angry. She looks away from him and towards the doors of their home. "Nothing wrong with a little consideration, or romance, or to be wanted and desired. It was nice for a change!"_

_Almost instantly, she regrets the words that flowed from her mouth. She bites her bottom lip and puts her head in her hands, turning away from him. God, how could he be so bloody blind? Even Mickey had figured it out sooner than he did, and it took Mickey months to decipher her blatant looks, and that's when she was fourteen. It's always been different with him._

_She feels hands wrap around hers and pull them down from her face, and she is surprised. She is too surprised to open her eyes and look into his because if she doesn't see what she needs to, she may break down right here. But it wasn't that long ago his hands were on her hips, and she knows the longer she waits, the less likely she will get what she truly wants. So when she does look up at him, the heat she feels is instant as it rushes over her entire body. Because this is different. He is looking deeper into her than he had been moments before, and it makes her wonder some days if he uses his 'slightly psychic' powers on her to read her thoughts. Can he read her thoughts? Can he hear her screaming at him from within? Can he feel her pulse the way she feels his? And it means so much more because he was the one to do it, to reach for her._

_They just stand there for a moment, her heart in her throat, the heat rising through her, the hair on the nape of her neck standing to attention, her skin is gooseflesh from head to foot._

_Rose waits for some silly retort, which may make her laugh through her tears._

_He opens his mouth to say something and closes it quickly, a frown adorns his lips, and she resists the urge to kiss it away because she knows she'll never have the courage. His brow is furrowed in thought, and still, she waits. And like that, the moment is lost. He allows her hands drop to her sides, and he beams at her a little lopsidedly, and her skin's prickly sensation dulls. He scratches his head, breaking her gaze, before stepping backward. She sits down on a bench and catches her breath as he begins to prattle on in regards to some trivial thing._

_When she was younger, fairy tales were how she observed people and the standards she had always held. She just never imagined that her white knight would have a sonic screwdriver in place of a sword and a spaceship as his steed._

_Or maybe it was the fact that she wasn't a genuine princess, and only real princesses get the royal treatment._

_Princesses and whores, but never the shopgirl._

Mickey sits down beside her, back from showing Jake out the front door.

She resists saying something rude, and instead, she takes another sip of her poison and stares into the flames, licking the top of the fireplace.

"Your mum and dad—"

"—Aunt and Uncle…" she interjects.

"Don' start Rose," Mickey says.

"I'm not," she mutters, "Just tryin' to be careful, after all, what would the help think?" Rose leans in closer to Mickey, leaning into his arms. "I've heard the rumours that I'm Pete's bastard from some whore years back. They all feel for Madame Tyler."

They are quiet for a minute, or maybe it's two. Rose doesn't know how to tell time these days, her internal clock too messed up by the TARDIS. She wishes there was no such thing as clocks. It restricts the imagination.

"You didn't tell 'er," Mickey begins again.

She reflects on his words for a moment before offering, "I can't. It'll destroy her."

"You're beginnin' to sound like 'im, and not in a good way." He reacts bitterly, waving his head.

Rose pulls away as she feels **it** spread from within her before she has any time to deter its progress. She feels it, and her body grows warm like someone has poured honey all over her. It bubbles over her skin and bursts from every pore.

She is glowing, her eyes, her skin, her hair. She feels weightless, and she's famished like she hasn't been satiated in years.

"Don't you ever…ever say anything about him ever again, Mickey Smith." She growls, with a voice that echoes half-human and half-beast.

She can smell his fear; it's thicker and coats her throat like molasses as his eyes bulge, petrified. Her beast is ready to hunt, the Wolf prepared to kill. His pulse is begging her to attack; she wants to know what it would flutter like if released from its current cage. Realizing that she's been thinking of Mickey as food instead of her best friend, Rose shakes herself and the beast, with much trepidation, obeys. Her Wolf retreats back down into her stomach. When she feels it curling around itself and rests, it is only then she can look at Mickey again.

"Sorry," she says, and she truly is.

"It's not gettin' any better Rose," Mickey whispers to her without his voice transgressing his heightened state, and for that, she gives him silent kudos.

"I know why it's happening," She tells him, the liquor in her hand starting to take hold. They still haven't left the comfort of Pete and her mother's home, a winter storm whipping snowflakes against the large windows. Her beast is at bay, and she doesn't feel as light anymore, nor as angry, which is a nice change. She's finished with feeling sore, tired of being jaded. Weary from holding back the tears.

"Why? Did he do this to you? Did the… Did… has Pete's doctor figured out what's goin' on with you then? and how to fix it?" He implores her.

A scoff escapes Rose's lips as she looks at him, recognizing she will have to tell someone, but sure he will never understand. After the last two years with the Doctor, just knowing what people are saying and comprehending different languages, and Rose wishes that she had learnt more, instead of taking the easy route. Maybe then she would have a better grasp of the English language as well.

"I didn't go to Pete's Torchwood ape," she informs Mickey, a tremor of bitterness biting the words, _his_ words. She sips her glass one last time before placing it down on the table in front of him and sitting down beside him on the large leather sofa.

"Rose, what? Are you insane?" He scoffs, turning his body towards her to give her his undivided attention. Mickey believes that she may be struggling with not being the centre of anyone's universe since she left the Doctor. That their connection was too co-dependent like he was towards her in the beginning. But he knows there is no other drug like travelling the way she did. That nothing will ever bring her the same level of joy.

"I didn't go…" She starts, her voice firm, "because I know what is going on, why it's going on, and what would keep it fixed… or keep it sedated… it's so compli… When I swallowed…" She can't put it into words, they don't have the words in English, or any other Earth derived language, or maybe she is drunk.

Either or.

She slowly inhales and closes her eyes. "I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. I take the words, I scatter them in time and space," she whispers in an increasingly familiar dual voice.

Images flash through her head right behind her eyes:

Her sweet Doctor, not quite as sad as the last time she saw him.  
Jack, with a huge smile, throwing a handsome gentleman against the wall and kissing him.  
A beautiful woman in a lab coat with a slow stunning smile kissing the Doctor.  
A menacing black Dalek.  
"Hello Sweetie," a woman beckons.  
A blonde woman in a power suit, a woman she knows she has never met but will never like.   
Jack looking up, surprised as the TARDIS lands within his view.  
The golden light. The voice of the TARDIS mixed with it, a young girl with red hair that she sees from time to time in her dreams. To Rose, and the entirety of all universes, these are just some of the things that could happen, these are the things that are already happening, these are the things that have already happened.

She opens her eyes again. "My connection to the TARDIS is fading; remember how it felt when that happened?"

"Yeah, I suppose. It felt a bit like part of my brain was meltin' out my ears. Not quite painful, but not comfortable or pleasant. I don't get it, Rose, it never did to me what it's clearly doin' to you now."

"That's because of the time vortex. No one, ever, took her into them before me. And only he has since, and when he did... he DIED. There had to be consequences for that. None of us could have ever known the consequences. I can't really explain because it's kind of like somethin' he said to me once. It's knowledge, it's a feeling, a whole language unto its own." She finishes before she whispers, "I never got that till now." more to herself than him.

She feels Mickey's eyes on her. She doesn't know how long they sit there, a pregnant silence falling between them.

"My mind is breaking down. Deteriorating because the TARDIS was the glue that held it together. When I flew her, the time vortex, I should have died or something, I never did. I never got it till now. It is because She's the reason I'm still alive or sane or… something..."

The Vortex. Satellite Five.

_"But, I— it killed you." She says, her eyes filling with tears. This is one of those moments where she feels too much. It's as though a shadow is resting over her body and mind. She feels a numbness that can swallow her whole some days. This is why he keeps avoiding the topic, why he walks away every time she demands to know._

_He's been protecting her from the truth, a burden he knew too heavy for her to bear. He moves his right hand to the back of her neck, the other still mostly in her hair until his thumb brushes away a scalding hot tear off her cheek—his forehead pressed to hers_.

_"No, it caused me to regenerate, it didn't kill me, don't ever think it killed me Rose, you did not kill me." He assures her, and his hands are on her face, and he's searching her eyes again. But the light is gone, she's too far gone, and he regrets immediately all his choices leading up to this moment._

_"I killed you, I KILLED you!" she sobs, and he pulls her close, body to body. He's holding her now, but no matter how tightly she wraps her arms around him, she doesn't feel any warmth._

_"You saved me Rose, you saved me," he whispers in her ear._

_"You saved me…"_

"The Vortex, she pitied me. We had... common interests. She tried her best to stay the connection but time and space are weird. No definitive line, so she's all over the bloody place. Not to mention I'm on the other side of a wall, in a different universe. I don't blame her." They sit on the couch, the embers of the fire dying away, the grandfather clock striking two.

She begins before the sound of its last toll is over, "Besides, she's got someone new to take care of." before giving Mickey a side-eye to see if she even caught it.

It appears as though he did, and she can tell he doesn't know what to make of it.

"If I go… I just want it to be quick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read so far. I was telling a partner that I originally intended for this to be a series, and if you enjoy it I could see myself committing to continuing it. I plan to upload Sunday, Wednesday and Fridays till completed :)


	3. Her Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I discovered I would be away from the computer all day tomorrow, therefore I decided to post a day early. Enjoy!

The thing about companions was, when they left, they usually took their _stuff_ with them. Well, except for Adric… but he didn’t really want to reflect on that. Then, Susan, of course, her bedroom was still as neat as the day she left it. Or rather, the day he left her banging on the other side of the TARDIS door, but that was her choice, not his. He just helped it along. Then Romana never really took all of her things either. But Romana, Romana, was an entirely different story. She was meant to eventually come back, like the crisp air that accompanies autumn. Okay, so most companions took their stuff. He just found it somewhat ironic that the ones who he held closest always managed to leave something behind.

For the longest time, the TARDIS hid Rose’s room from him. He never understood why. After all, he was fine. He had shed his two tears a long time ago, and she was safe; she was with her family and friends. As she had said once, their time was over; everything must come to dust. Everything dies. It was that he brooded over the most. A piece of him believed he would care for Rose forever. He knew it was irrational, overly romantic, illogical, and utterly human, but he couldn’t help himself. The Time Lord in him told him that he was a fool, and Rose was like the rest of many. She’d wither and die, and he’d get on with his life and that he would barely think of her years from now when he was running down some street hand in hand with another girl, boy, amorphic blob.

Those are the days he is usually cruellest to Martha.

Not that she ever puts up with him. She knew insults that actually appalled him, and he’s over 900 years old. Though you’re slightly telepathic, you pick up loads of dirty thoughts, sometimes even on purpose.

It was these particular insults that she usually reserved for him. Like the time she was particularly mournful over the loss of someone she held dear, and he belittled her feelings.

“What about going to a beachy planet! Full of beach-like sun and fun!” he exclaimed. “You could even work on your tan!”

She looked at him deadpan. He tried to will her to smile for him. To give into his charms the way she used to. He remembers when he first met Martha, she used to look at him the way Ro— she did. And it made him feel something, especially after that Donna character.

“And get eaten by giant clams? No thanks. Besides, I hate sand.” She had replied forlornly.

He had tried this for several days, going from boring planet to boring planet. It wasn’t that he wasn’t looking for something, anything really. He wanted to stir the pot, he was dying for some revolution, genocide, or just plain misdeeds he could swoop in and correct. At least then, he could wake Martha out of whatever daze she was in.

It was after the sixth planet he snapped at her. They were in a little cottage belonging to an elderly woman that sat at the top of the hill right above the village. It had a magnificent view, and Martha was staring out at it, the purple and pink suns fading off into the horizon. He was ready to leave and go find a new adventure when she told him that it was pointless, that all the planets felt the same lately.

“He’s not coming back you, you know,” he told her bitterly.

She turned and looked at him with blank eyes and, in a calm voice, told him, “Neither is she.”

His hearts missed a beat each, and swallowing, he started with, “Don’t ever presume to know what I…”

“Agreed,” Martha had interrupted, then turned back to the suns. They stood there in silence. Both with their wounds laid open on the table. He had crossed the distance and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t move right away, but she laid her chin on his shoulder when she did turn and fold into him. He rubbed her back as both of them shed tears; Tears of what each other had lost, for themselves, and for what they had with each other.

When they parted, both pairs of eyes were dry, and they were ready to continue.

~***~

* * *

_“What happened on Satellite Five?” Rose challenges him, her voice shaking with untapped rage. Her arms are crossed over her chest, holding herself together. They’re in a row now because Rose has decided after carefully excluded information, information that could have been dropped at a better time, she’s had enough of not comprehending what was transpiring._

_He has been annoyed and brushing her off lately. But when she agreed to travel with him, there was always an unspoken agreement that she could ask him anything. That no query was too stupid, that their journey together was as extraordinary as the place they were visiting. On their last adventure, he knowingly used her feelings for him against her to get the results he desired. It finally has pushed her anger into boiling over, and she brought up the forbidden topic._

_“TELL ME!” she roars in agony when he continues to stare at her with sheer frustration._

_He marches over to her, a stern look on his face as he approaches. Grabbing her by the arms, he pulls her against him so that their faces are less than a couple of inches away. He has never entered her physical space with such energy in their **entire** relationship. She’s ashamed to admit that even in their current states of anger, she feels something deep within her spark to attention._

_“Do you want to know? Do you **really** want to know why? Why I can’t...” he demands of her as deep brown eyes search hers, and she nods fervently, too stunned at this point to say no._

_His hands run shakily through her hair, resting his fingers against her temples, and it takes every fibre in her not to shudder at the contact. She closes her eyes at his touch, somehow knowing what he’s about to do. She’s seen him do this only a few times before, to others, which caused her to feel like a voyeur, jealous at the intimate contact. Images begin to flash behind her eyes, first with her running to him on the Weakest Link. Only this time, she feels destroyed as he kneels near a pile of dust. She feels his hearts racing, the strong urge to be sick as his hand gently traces the ash on the ground. She closes their eyes, but she can hear the whirl of the TARDIS shifting through time and space; she listens to herself, screaming inside of it._

_When she opens them, they watch her leave him with his only escape, the TARDIS. There is no fear or concern for himself; he is taking his moment to grieve her loss. But now she can feel the vortex entering her. How she made it back to him, Rose doesn’t remember, because this time she doesn’t feel it; she feels only him. Hurt and hate fill her up as she watches him cower in awe on the floor in front of her, tendrils of power licking outwards from her heart as she feels for Jack’s thread and finding him dead. But this is not right. She’s not herself. Through his eyes, she sees herself with his hearts as she destroys all the Daleks and brings Jack back._

_He is afraid of her. But she just felt for Jack. She can’t BE HIM right now. She’s in her body._

_This is not how it’s supposed to go. Something’s gone wrong, she’s screwed up somewhere, and now it’s too late. Badwolf can’t let go. He leans forward and plants his lips on hers, taking her within and dispelling her back into the TARDIS._

_It’s when his lips press against hers, the moment of knowing all there is, all there was, and all that ever could be that she resigns her to her fate. It is at that moment she sees visions of them caressing and holding each other._

_She sees his death, over and over, but she’s always with him.  
She sees his agony trapped for millions of years in his own prison.   
A wall between them.  
Then there is a child she knew was theirs.  
A child that is not hers, but his.  
She knew it all, and then like smoke, it disappears from few._

_When his lips pull away from hers, she expects to feel herself falling, but instead, she opens her eyes. There is he is, his brown eyes traded for blue, heavy with what she assumes are tears, his breath laboured._

_His fingers are firmly wrapped through her hair, still holding on to her like he is afraid to let go. She has to look away from the hurt in his eyes, so she stares ahead at the blue dress shirt in front of her, the buttons shifting slightly with each rapid heartbeat. She places a hand over her lips, they are dry, and she wants to lick them, but she doesn’t trust herself._

_“You… you absorbed the vortex from me.” She finally declares, frantically trying to find words that won’t mean anything more or less than what had happened._

_What may have just happened while he was in her head?_

_“I did.”_

_“Why would you do that?” She asks him in reverence. She finds that staring at his chest is becoming too unbearable, so she shifts once more upwards, between his jawline and his hearts._

_“Because it was going to kill you, and I couldn’t let that happen.” He tells her, his voice throaty. This is decidedly worse. Watching his Adam’s apple when he’s clearly upset._

_“Rose,” She hears him whisper._

_“Rose, this isn’t how this happened. You yelled at me, but when you tried to talk to me about it, I walked away from you. It was weeks later when we were both calmer, but this time, you let me walk away from you.”_

_“True,” Rose hears herself say, “but I’ve decided that, even in memories, I’m tired of watching you walk away.”_

~***~

* * *

The Doctor woke in front of the console, unable to explain why he had felt like he was intruding on _her_ dream. Shaking his head, he began to wander down a corridor toward Martha’s room to see if she was ready for another day. As he turned a corner, he stumbled across a door he hadn’t seen in what Martha had recently informed him was four months.

Bright pink had hit his vision like a brick, and he smiled at the sight of it, thanking the TARDIS for giving him this one last gift. There were two pictures on her nightstand, and he moved to sit on her bed to study them closer. One was of Jack and her kissing him on both cheeks. His blue eyes squinted in annoyance like he was trying to force them off him, but he could tell how brightly his ears shone that he enjoyed it. The other picture was actually four, from one of those silly booths you sit in. It was in a long strip folded in half along the second pictures seam. They had donned their best detective/deducting faces; the second, they made silly faces. He had chuckled before flipping them over, the air slowly leaving his lungs. The last two pictures seemed more private, perhaps why she had folded them. In the third one, she kissed his cheek as he appeared to be looking for the camera. The fourth one hits him the hardest; in that picture, he was staring at Rose in awe, she smiling brightly for the camera. He never realized it showed so plainly on his face. It affirmed to him once more that she had to have known.

_“Let’s get some pictures done, yeah?” Rose asks him, taking him by the hand and leading him towards a small booth._

_Behind them, a rather large Ferris wheel turns while fireworks are going off. He has just finished his cotton candy and begrudgingly throws the stick in the nearest trash bin._

_“Oh no Rose… No, no, no, no, no. I refuse to succumb to your appetite for the cliché.” He tells her, pointing hesitantly towards the booth that is smaller in size than the TARDIS. A look of distaste appears on his face as he plants his feet._

_“Oh yes, you will,” She implores, biting her lower lip as she uses her body weight to pull on his arm, the arm that she just had her own strung through. Her fingers entwined in his. One foot moves forward, brightening her face even more as she tilts her head._

_“And you will smile like a good boy while doing it. I need a picture of you. I don’t have one.” She squeezes his hand at this, and the Doctor pulls her off balance with such ease she forgets how powerful he is as he presses her up against himself._

_“As it should be.” He murmurs in her ear, and she shivers._

_“Please?” A now pouting Rose asks as she pulls back to study his face behind his glasses. She is doing this because she knows it usually works on him. He knows she is doing this because she knows it usually works on him._

_He thinks it may work on him again._

_He can sense the need from her, not the same as her desire, but a need regardless. Earlier, he had detected it on the Ferris Wheel as they stared out at the blanket of stars ahead of them._

_“You’re supposed to do this kind of stuff at the beginning of the relationship!” He tries pleading with her, and neither acknowledges that he just admitted that they were in a relationship. After all, they were; it’s only that neither has specified what type. All she knows is she has no intention of choosing any other dance partner for the rest of her foreseeable life. She decides to untangle herself from his arms and double down on her pout; she’s willing to die on this hill._

_He begins to doubt if it was the right thing to take her on a date tonight. They keep getting dangerously close to new territory in their relationship, and he’s unsure if he’s willing to tell her the truth of what that means in the long run. But she’s been wearing him down since they made it away from the black hole and conversations about mortgages that threatened to swallow them whole._

_Her laughter pulls him out of his head. “You think I would have been able to get you into a booth in your last body?” Her hand is placed on the hip of her polka dot dress skirts, her hair bouncing behind a matching hairband._

_He looks into her hazel eyes, and the air feels heavy against his skin as he breathes her in. There is a deeper motive for why she requires these pictures, sentimental value or not. He knows if he denies her this, he’s rejecting much more._

_He aches to reach out and touch her thoughts, and he so easily could but knows it’s best for him not to. It’s best for them both._

_“Good point! Booth it is then! Anything to please the fair lady!” He tells her, taking her hand and pulling her towards the picture stand._

_He can sense her pleasure as heat rolling off against her skin, and he smells her pheromones mixing with her perfume like cinnamon and spice. It reminds him of Chai tea. As they enter, he casually pulls her into his lap, and she sits there leaning back so they can both be in the frame._

**_Focus on the pictures old man,_ ** _he hears himself thinking,_ ****_not the weight of her in your lap.  
  
_

“God, she’s stunning,” the Doctor hears behind him. Martha is standing behind him, peering down the length of his body spread out on her unmade bed. The pictures sit on top of the

“Yeah, she is, isn’t she?” He murmurs, the corners of his lips turned upwards. Martha lays down beside him, on top of the pink comforter.

“You switched to present tense.” She states.

“What?”

“You switched. Usually, when you thin— mention her, she is talked about in past tense, you’re now talking about her in the present tense,” she says.

He thinks about this and smiles, looking back at the photo. He always loved that dress.

“I suppose I did.” He says, studying the picture. He looks over to Martha, who is watching him with no expectation in her eyes. Ready to listen.

“What’s her name?” She asks.

“Her name is Rose, and she is fantastic.” Both smile as they get up from Rose’s bed and walk out the room hand in hand towards the console room. He knows now that he will always love Rose, just like he will always love them all. But it’s time (and he is a Time Lord after all) to live in the present tense. He and Martha have worlds to explore.


	4. Alien Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has mental health trigger warnings.  
> Rose, the Bad Wolf and Time.
> 
> ~***~

_"Doctor?" she asks him, breaking their comfortable silence._

_"Rose?" He returns, looking down at her with bright blue eyes. She feels his hand in hers, rough and calloused, but warm, his fingers closed over her own, making her feel small and vulnerable._

_"What kinda Doctor are you?" She inquires and wishes she sounded a little less blunt, a little more sophisticated, a little more ladylike._

_"The alien kind."_

_"No," She laughs, flipping the hand in hers, tracing the back of his knuckles, "I mean, there's doctors of medicine, and history, and other such things. I mean, there's gotta be a field or somethin' you doctored in… I was just wonderin' what that is."_

_He turns to face her; she can smell his old leather jacket as it groans with his movement. He seems so severe down his long nose, those big daft ears poking out each side of his head. But she doesn't laugh; something in his face stops her._

_"I'm a Doctor of death."_

_Rose would have rolled her eyes at the overly tragic statement if it had been anyone else. It resembles a joke, but she doesn't find herself laughing at it._

_She will never ask again._

~***~

* * *

"Is there nothing you can do for her, Doctor?" Jackie desperately asks, watching from behind a double-sided mirror as her first child paces back and forth.

Rose is covered in a hospital gown and one of those I.D. bracelets, which is useless as she has no I.D. in this dimension. There are marks up her arms where they tried to put the IV in and where she has repeatedly clawed it out. Clearly, her daughter hasn't eaten in days; yet she isn't ashen.

If anything, it appears to Jackie Rose is glowing.

"NO! That is not the correct way to address the problem! You have to attack from all angles!" Rose screeches, running her fingers through her greasy hair, stopping for a second. Her breath hitches in her throat as she stands on her tiptoes, as graceful as a dancer. Both the Torchwood doctor and Jackie wait with bated breath to see if she has finished her tirade.

"Rose?" Dr. Mudd asks, holding down the button to a microphone connected to the adjacent room, "Rose, are you finished? Will you let me come and help you?"

Her back is to Jackie and the doctor, her head titled awkwardly to her left side.

"I think… this time it lasted long… er… didn't it?" A weak voice forces out. She stumbles around and, her previous grace lost, as she turns to see her Jackie standing on the other side of the glass.

"Mummy?" She creaks, "Mummy, you came." Jackie sees her eyes are bright, but the rest of her is now colourless, all previous light drained. Her eyes shift focus before she slides down the wall in her room and curls into a ball.

"Rose! Darlin'! I'm right here! It's mum! I have so much to tell you." Jackie cries out, pressing her hands up to the window. She watches her daughter stretch her legs out in front of her, the hands slowly fall down her face, palms out and useless as she slowly rises into a standing position.

"To tell to tell…  
what is…  
Do we have—  
There is no time for that.  
Where is she? Where did she go?"

A bloody thumb goes into Rose's mouth, teeth biting the fabric. Her wrists and hands are wrapped up to slow her down as she chews her fingers and hands raw.

"I'm right here, Rose!" Jackie cries out, placing a hand over her mouth. She turns to Dr. Mudd and tells him to let her in the room. He lets go of the button and turns to the distraught older woman.

"I can't! She attacks anyone who comes near her when she's like this. We've had to remove the amount of staff on duty due to it."

"What a girl that weighs at most ten stone? Causing _that_ much trouble?" Jackie asks disbelievingly.

"The fire, touch it….  
Fiery red, we'll name you Scarlet,  
Mum would love that,  
Oh, Scarlet is too predictable.  
Dawn, Dawn then?  
No… that one's already taken,  
Claire?  
I think he would love that."

"She attacks them, just not _physically._ " Dr. Mudd confirms, the hint of fear in his voice returning.

Jackie realizes just how angry she really is; she's irate at this false prophet in front of her, mad at the Time Lord, who left them here as a consolation prize. Jackie wants so badly to have him here in front of her, so she could tell him that if she knew that trading one life for another would mean this could happen to Rose, she would have told him to keep it. She would have waited anxiously at home for her calls if it meant Rose was coherent and safe.

But it's too late. Rose is now standing in the back corner of the room, facing away from them as she rocks back and forth, already mumbling to herself.

Jackie desperately looks at the doctor, and he tries to pull Jackie away from the viewing glass to show her the diagnostic images on the light board. "The thing is, Mrs. Tyler, Most humans use only portions of their brain at a time, their synapses igniting like, well like fireworks. But Rose—" He starts when he carefully adds another image besides the original. She can see the differences before he speaks again.

"Rose seems to be using the entirety of her brain…" He pauses as he places a third image on the board, "or none of it at all."

She has nothing to say as her silent rage stares down the physician in front of her. She steps forward as he continues to talk about Rose's a-typical neurology and what that means for science. One of the brains looked like a bright blue flame was radiating inside her baby's brain. The third image looked like the spark was going out, just a whisper of activity left, barely detectable.

"—Door, floor, more! I need more words, more numbers, not enough in English to figure it out.  
Devrais-je essayer le français?  
Mortuus linguarum sit optimum?”

"All these black areas?" She hears as Dr. Mudd motions over them. She can barely hear him over her tinnitus, the ringing in her ears loud and clear.

"Well, on a normal person—"

"Rose is a normal person!" Jackie interrupts, aghast.

"FUCKING Parasites!  
How can he love us so?  
Please, we do more damage than he ever did. We are his foil, the deuteragonist, not even the main character in our own lives.  
How pathetic!  
Exploring, destroying—"

"Of… course Mrs. Tyler." Mudd tries again, the young woman in the background quieting down enough for them to continue. "What I meant was this is highly unusual; usually, this level of blackness signifies tumours or tissue damage. If I were to send this image," He thumbs to the left image, "to any other specialist in the field, they would identify this as the brain of someone with severe brain damage. But this is impossible—Mrs. Tyler. As we both know." They both turn to the brightly lit diagnostic image.

In the background, a hoarse voice continues,  
"Metal, kettle, nettle, petal, set… no, no, no, no, no, no—  
NO! FOCUS!  
CURA CLAIRE."

"And that image?" Jackie inquires, pointing to the right, her voice shaking. "How do you explain that?"

"That was a rare get for us. That was during one of Rose's atonic seizures before she became this manic. Since then, we have been unable to get her back into the MRI scanner. She can't keep still. None of the sedatives work. She's been going through moments of aphasia, speaking in Latin mostly. To top it off, she's been exhibiting signs of synesthesia, saying she can taste certain... emotions."

Jackie and Mudd look over their shoulders to see Rose dancing, her arms twirling, her head titled back to only music she can hear.

"I don't remember her taking Latin in school." Jackie offers.

"She didn't. Before last week Miss Tyler was exhibiting abnormally fast learning rates and processing data at inhuman speeds. She became fluent in French and Latin in three days. So it would be safe to assume it's not brain damage, which is baffling, since the image to the left is how the images were coming back the more we put her in the machine." He finished.

"You're supposed to know what's going on. Fix things. You have a big shiny piece of paper telling ya you're good at it, so DO SOMETHING FOR HER." Jackie squeals, pointing at the girl she once knew as her daughter, and she realizes she's not even talking to Doctor Mudd at this moment. She's playing out her prayer to **him** , the one who should be here right now with them, making sure nothing like this were to ever happen to her. Protecting her.

"You have to understand Mrs. Tyler, that your daughter is suffering from something that no human, on _this_ earth, that is, has ever experienced. That is why she is here, after all." The Torchwood doctor reminds her. "Mr. Tyler believes us to be the right fit for Rose's medical needs currently as they are obviously no longer human in nature."

Jackie's not stupid. She prides herself on that.

And so, she tells him as much.

"Listen here Dr. Mudd, I'm not dense. If you ever need to remember one thing in this lifetime of yours, ever again, remember this. That is MY daughter in there, crazy or not, and I AM Pete Tyler's wife, your boss. So, get this straight. Alternate universe or no, she ain't your pet rat to can dissect!" Her voice booms through the room, pounding her fist against the aluminum table in front of her.

The room is exceptionally silent other than their breathing, and yet, both Mudd and Jackie can feel the heat of eyes on them. She feels the baby kick inside her, her heart falling slowly to the floor as she turns towards the glass, separating them from their older sister.

Rose is glaring at them with bright amber eyes.

"I bring life," she whispers in her dual voice.

There is a loud cracking sound of the glass before it smashes to the floor. Jackie hears the screams before she realizes they're coming from her. The tendrils in Rose's eyes fill the room as she floats timelessly to the floor.

~***~

* * *

"Mummy? Mummy you came?"

Rose can perceive everything; Comprehending, she is not just herself anymore.

She is Rose.

She is the Bad Wolf.

She is Time.

"The fire, touch it….  
Fiery red, we'll name you Scarlet,  
Mum would love that,  
Oh, Scarlet is too predictable.  
Dawn, Dawn then?  
No… that one's already taken,  
Claire?  
I think he would love that.  
STOP  
to scold me  
HATEFUL, SPITEFUL—  
We are in tears… I feel numb in this kingdom." She says, pacing back and forth, letting the words flow.

She has tried to hold them back and wanted to keep them in her mind, but she imagines this is what Coprolalia or Tourette's feels like as she tries to regain control of her body. She pushes herself into the corner of the room and focuses on the corner in front of her.

"Naughty words, forbidden words, spinning webs of the Doctor and his blue box.  
But there is a girl. They mustn't know.  
Claire, do you hear me?  
She thinks about him when she moans. Filthy girl." She doesn't want anyone to hear the words pouring out of her, not even herself, as she runs her hands through her hair to cover her ears.

But she sees them together, a family, the child and her Time Lord. Them. Sometimes there are three children, two girls and a boy. Most times, it's just her little ginger-girl. Her Claire, her light.

Then she sees him pushing a swing, sometimes she is on it. Sometimes the child.

But always who he holds dear.

Gallifrey is burning in the sky, the screams, the silence, genocide, the Holocaust, Hitler, Great Britain in ruins, North America on fire. The earth falling into the black hole he pulled them out of.

She sees her death on the floor of a lab somewhere, blood dripping into her eyes.

A woman with red hair weeping in front of a different him. Which one? They all are him. He is all of them. Like how she is now tripled. Cubed. A different dimension.

The universe is imploding.

"War!  
 _There's always war, Rose._  
Daleks, Cybermen, blow Torricelli's trumpet.  
Civilizations tumble…  
Time is not a line; She's a great ball of whorl, whorl?  
Whore!  
Rude! She is a whorl that drifts to a song on the wind.  
He never sang the song, but I did.  
No, I DID.  
Can we both agree we did? We sang him a lullaby and made the Daleks run away." She whispers.

"Then he ran away—  
Coward.  
Time is a womb.  
 _Exist here._  
WAIT! FROM WHERE?  
I'm only past and future right now, NOT present! Mickey told me. He knew all along that four months is 16 days and 21 hours… 3 years five is months… Right? Yes… no… wait… no right, yes, okay." Stopping, she aches to have the health to explain to her mum. She has all the time in the universe; she has no time left to pause.

An encore to her visions begins. Flashes of her in a wedding dress transform into an image of her in a bridesmaid dress.  
Her first Doctor marries someone else in front of her.  
He's at a zoo with beautiful birds.  
For him, it's only been a month and a half since they parted, only 26 days since he last saw her. He's in a hospital bed. His eyes meet with a woman for the first time as she presses her stethoscope to his chest. She knows this is his newest one in the long line of many. 

"Door, floor, more! I need more words, more numbers, not enough in English to figure it out… I need different systems.  
Should I try in French?  
Dead languages are the best—  
Shit, I need my notes.  
Stop this right this instant. It's too much!  
YOU WANT IT TO STOP, DON'T YOU?  
She sees!" She cries out before moving away from the corner.

The wolf in the basement, back at the old Torchwood estate, had smelt it on her. When she had approached the cage, he had seen her beast and whimpered in fear. But where had it come from? Had it come from him? Had it come from the TARDIS, or was it just a manifestation of her insanity? 

"I can't. It's too hard. War, pain, suffering, genocide—  
Sex...  
 _Violence._  
FUCKING Parasites!  
How can he love us so?  
Please, we do more damage than he ever did. We are his foil, the deuteragonist, not even the main character in our own lives.  
How pathetic!  
Exploring, destroying—  
 _I can wait, the wolf can wait, and the girl will obviously have to wait…_  
The girl? I live here too! The screaming I can't stand the screaming!" she mourns. She encircles her arms around herself, starting to hear the song in her ears. A beat that she can move to.

They can see every atom in existence all at once, and she wonders if this is how the Time Lord feels. If he can feel every grain of everything that ever existed or will exist or exists. If he feels her hunger for him, as she feels his longing. She wonders why he had not taught her how to use it. If he has had this power, he had to have known this was to happen, just like he will know what is to come. He had bragged about it so.

She knows what is to come; she is just trying to find the path to get there. They are destined to be whole again. If only he will accept it? Will he welcome it like she must? Or will he oppose it at every turn, making it harder than it has to be? Will he be so blind that he will not see what is right in his face? This has been their future before they ever began.

"Meddle… Metal, kettle, nettle, petal, set… no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! PAY ATTENTION! FOCUS! CURA CLAIRE." She yells at the redheaded child staring at her and shrugging her shoulders. Rose reaches out to her and takes her hands before they start spinning in circles together.

"I do I need my notes, I can't remember, too much to remember while too much is going on… one twenty that's ninety-nine. Ninety-nine is equal to thirty-six thousand one thirty-five… seven point three. Seven point three is the number to be, tree, see the key… the key seems to be seven point three. That makes four thousand nine hundred and fifty. Thirteen point five-six years."

Her breath hitches, she stops her dance. "Find it, find it find it find it find him…. Yes…. Giggly girl… good, good little girl…. Yesyesyes…" She sees the tapestry in front of her, as it has always been, she just couldn't see it behind the images, and she reaches out knowingly.

For the first time in months, Rose (who was not only Rose but Rose, Time and the Wolf) feels a moment of clarity. There, amongst all the threads of timelines, she finally finds it. The one She was looking for all along. Rose has fulfilled her purpose, for now.

It's then she sees him, spectacles and all. He's behind the mother and the Torchwood doctor, not there, but brighter and more present than that day on the beach. His mind is reaching out through time-space and the void, and she senses traces of others on him, a flicker of time, like a skipping record. He isn't really here with her; she is the recording, a message later viewed by him. But she still addresses him.

They're coming… Rose murmurs to him, trying to bathe in the warmth of him, to feel his heartbeats in hers. She sees the confusion in his eyes.

Not you… them… She adds hastily, can see his perplexed expression; he has been trying to tell her something, and she interrupted. But he's not really there; he's somewhere else, days, weeks, months, years, before this moment or after, a trace of him receiving a broken message.

Hurry… what do I do?

But she receives no answer, and as the faint image of him drifts away from her grasp.

"I bring life," She whispers as she reweaves the tapestry, she is the tapestry.

She feels the waves of what she's done smash through the glass in the room before collapsing. Rose won't fight them anymore. She will bide herself, or at least that part of herself. For she knows when he is coming. She has made it possible.

Then she loses consciousness.


	5. Barcelona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose³ has sent out a ripple through space and time, and things are about to start falling apart. 
> 
> When I originally wrote this, we didn't know much about River, or any other companion for that matter, so I find it intriguing how things line up or veer off course from canon!

"I wish you would come see Rose with me," Jackie reveals to Pete as she takes Elle into her arms. Her daughter is dribbling from the nose, but Elle's blue eyes are gazing up at her mother in wonder. She bursts into a gummy grin and makes a cooing sound.

"I'm not her father," Pete retorts, trying to pry his finger out of his baby's determined grasp. Jackie gives him a grim scowl.

"That's not how I meant it, and you know it, Jacks. She barely recognizes you, let alone me. She's shunned me since she's come over this way," he says. He's attempting to justify himself and backtrack a little, and it's still not working. "I'm sorry, it's just too weird to see you in that much pain knowing I can't share in it the way you do. It happened too fast. I've known her more like this than like the normal Rose."

"I know Pete," She bites back, taking Elle to the sofa to feed her. She can sense Pete studying her with so much affection that it helps her mood, but only just a little. He edges his way closer to the large chair she has curled up in with her youngest.

"I'll go next time, promise." Pete starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks down. "I'm rubbish at this father thing. I could barely change Elle today. Maria had to show me how." He inches closer to Jackie till he's finally right in front of her before crouching down in front of them, and she can't entirely avoid meeting his gaze.

"Hey," He says softly, and she looks at him. "You know I love Rose, right? That I'd do anything in my power for her to get better? I'm just scared to see her like that." He says, choking up near the end. Tears threaten to spill before Jackie sighs.

"You don't have to come if it's too hard. Could you just make sure they aren't keeping her like that so they can study her?" she asks.

"Of course… are you sure though? That you don't want me to come?" He replies, a little too relieved.

This is a test, a test older than time herself. 

"I'm sure," she says with a smile on her lips.

"Okay," he says, seemingly relieved in his resignation. A test that Pete just failed and Jackie hates him just a little for that.

~***~

* * *

It's a typical day on the TARDIS, Martha and the Doctor both laughing maniacally, sharing in one of those inside jokes that no one else in the universe would get. She is sitting there in pajama bottoms, a tank top with a medical textbook, and a yogurt cup. He is setting a course for the day.

"Zephybria?" he asks her, staring at the TARDIS' monitor.

"Nah, too warm this time of year." She replies, leaning back in a worn-out chair.

"What time a year is that then?" He asks, not stopping what he is doing to look at her but instead lifting an eyebrow staring at the monitor.

"Any time of year." She snorts.

"Aphroditorious?" He inquires, pushing a button and spinning a knob.

"Too Niagara falls-ish." She shoots down.

He looks up to her. She still is face down in her text. "Zeph Le Toro Seven?"

"Too touristy—"

"Quing Zalpha Six?"

She looks at him deadpan, and he gives her that smile he knows melts many a woman's scowls. Usually, it will work on her, but she has proven that sometimes nothing can break her.

On Quing-Zalpha-Six, they had been put into a precarious position. A position where they married to avoid waring with the Septania tribes.

"Wait, why are we choosing from places I've already been to?" She says, finishing the cup and tossing it in a wastebasket near her.

"Good point." He says, scratching his head.

"You planned it that way!"

"Planned what?′ he asks her innocently.

"Planned on bringing up Quing Zalpha Six." 

She fumes. The Doctor keeps promising that they are not _really a_ polygamist alien, trolling the universe to collect wives/husbands/wayward teens.

"Nah, that would imply I enjoy you angry."

She stares at him, her face deadpan, a look that he knows all too well and knows that he is about to cross a line with her he doesn't necessarily want to pass.

"I know just the place!" he tells her, rotating a gizmo and pulling a gadget.

"Oh yeah?" 

"Yeah," he says, getting that look on his face, which is a mixture of determination, forcefulness, and giddy boyhood. Some days, Martha would describe it to him as impish.

The TARDIS lands, and it takes them a minute to regain their footing. He has no idea where they have fallen, and that makes it even more exciting. She wiggles her eyebrows in a way that suggests "race you." She, however, makes it to the door first.

Neither is prepared for what they see.

For Martha, the stunning landscape causes her to hitch her breath in her throat. Placing a hand over her heart, she is tempted to step out and explore, but she is careful. Massive glaciers jut towards a particular direction on the horizon. The roll of them looking like hills looming off in the distance. Martha is speechless. After all, how often do you see fifty-foot high waves made of ice?

For the Doctor, he cannot tell if he finds the irony painful or nostalgic. Maybe this is what humans mean by bittersweet? He doesn't know.

"Right, I'm going to go change. Something warm, maybe some mitts, and perhaps some ear warmers. You need anything while I'm back there?" Martha announces.

"First left, second right, third on the left, go straight ahead, under the stairs, past the bins, it's the fifth door on her left."

She raises a brow but doesn't say a thing. She runs down the hall, and he is glad she didn't see the pain on his face under the cover of the darkness out here.

While he waits, he decides he'll go for a little reminiscing walk without her. That way, he won't be all broody when they explore together. This is her first time here; he'd like to make it memorable for her. There is no wind here, no noise to interfere with the tranquillity of the place.

He reaches one of the more tremendous surges of ice and stands below it, underneath its cusp and remembers climbing it with a girl with bleach blonde hair and curious hazel eyes. He places his hand against the titan and feels the icy coolness against his fingertips. Closing his eyes, he smirks, reliving the conversation they had on its peek underneath the stars.

" _Why do they call it Woman's Wept?" his companion asks him, pushing her hands deeper into her short denim jacket. Icicles begin to build upon her spider-leg mascara, her breath in tendrils creeping up in front of her._

" _Because this continent, the only massive body of land on the planet, looks like a giant woman crying from above." He tells her as he removes his leather coat and wraps it around her, pulling the lapels together in the front._

" _I thought it was because woman cry here cuz it's so bloody cold!"_

" _Har… har… you're quite the comedian Rose Tyler. I told you to bundle up, 'it's cold,' I said, 'make sure you have a coat.' But no, not you bundle up means putting on a jean jacket over your jumper." Her teeth are chattering as he finishes buttoning his large leather jacket over top of her._

" _Oi! Look who's talkin', all you ever wear is a jumper and this leather coat." Rose counters. She looks up at him with hazel eyes under heavy lashes that cause him to catch his breath._

" _Yes, but my body can regulate its temperature so that I'm slightly toasty wherever I go. Extreme cold and heat that you cannot even imagine are my only deterrent. Can YOU do that, Miss Tyler? Hmmm?" He asks her with that oh-so smug smile, nose and ears bright red. He drops his hands on her shoulders and spins her around in an undignified fashion so that she is leading them away. She stumbles forward in front of him as he comes around her left side and wrapping his arm around her shoulders._

" _No…" She replies a little put-out before smiling brightly. "But I can do this!" With that, she touches her tongue to the tip of her nose._

" _Now THAT'S impressive. Forget whatever I told you." He replies to her, laughing. "Careful it doesn't get stuck there. Serious though, Rose."_

_"mmph… mmphdmmmrrrrll…"_

" _Told you so!" he says, pulling her tongue gently off her nose._

" _Noted, never stick your tongue to your nose on woman's wept. You'll have to explain the physics on this one since it's not like I have metal in my face, but sure okay. Oh! You know where my talents would reign supreme? Star Search, then together, we could rule the world."_

" _You plan to take over the world through Star Search?" he asks her incredulously, but it sounds harsher than he really means it. He squeezes her shoulder, and she leans into him enough that his arm slips down around her waist. He loves that she can rope him into the most ridiculous conversations with no real end or beginning, like their travels together. When she is near, it hurts a little less._

" _Well, yeah… you do know that they are a secret evil government," She wraps a leather-clad arm around his back, and the way they are walking, her head fits in the crevice of his shoulder._

" _That still makes no sense! How could winnin' Star Search mean you take over the world? Why wouldn't it be the business leaders of Star Search?"_

" _I dunno, ask Jack! He's the one who explained it to me. Where is he, anyway?"_

He thinks it's odd that the memory is so tangible and near, and his hearts fall to the floor. The reason they're so concrete and real is that they aren't in his head. He's confident the voices are emanating from above him. Panicking, he starts racing back towards the TARDIS when he bumps into Martha.

"Hey! Got out of my Jim-Jams and wore a proper coat. Then some bloke who thought he was _really something_ started chatting me up till I said I had to go find you. Wait, why are we going back to the TARDIS?"

The Doctor had looped his arm through hers while she was talking and is now taking them back to the ship.

"I don't know how this happened, but it's bad, it's a mountain of bad, some may even say a plethora of bad to come? Don't think I wasn't tempted, tempted to stay, tempted to warn them, tempted to run away screaming, but I'm not going to do any of those things. I'm going to get you back safely onto the TARDIS because if I did any of those things," he says, turning to look at her, "I don't know what would happen to you. So let's do the right thing and get back to our ship, okay?"

She's looking at him with confused dark eyes, but they are eyes full of trust, and she nods her head in agreement. Glad to know she's not going to fight him on this. 

_So she had met Jack, had she?_ The Doctor thinks to himself. He's so lucky that she wasn't near the TARDIS when they met; he's just so fortunate that he can escape this possibly unscathed. He looks up once they turned the corner of a smaller, more secluded wave to see in which direction he parked the TARDIS and feels himself sinking when it's nowhere in sight.

Sighing, he looks down at the footprints in the snow-covered ice. Two pairs end about ten feet away- logically where his TARDIS _should_ be. 

He realizes that, right now, none of this makes sense, the fact that his ship would put him in a position of unknowingly creating a paradox or the ship's disappearance from where it was parked. He searches the ground for another set of prints and isn't surprised when he finds a pair.

What is surprising is that they're tiny.

His eyes follow them up and up to the top of a twenty-foot wave and see a flash of what he thinks maybe a little girl. She moved so fast he cannot tell, but the footprints and the splash of fiery red as she disappeared from sight is causing him to think as much, regardless of the logic. Determined, he grabs Martha's hand.

"Just a second, you're probably going to need these." She tells him and hands him crampons to cover his converse in. Frustrated, he debates the realities of trying without them before grabbing them awkwardly, and before they know it, they're climbing the twenty-foot wave in search of a little girl that the Doctor hasn't even told Martha about. They do so in silence because Martha is fearful that if she says anything, it will ruin his concentration, and she believes him wholeheartedly when he says they are in grave danger right now.

Once at the top, he scours the horizon for a glimpse of anything that may bring about a paradox when he sees his TARDIS in a prominent place not more than sixty yards away. Confused, he continues to look for the little girl. He finds no sign of her and wonders if he will end up finding her in the TARDIS.

"Come on, let's go home." He smiles and decides to show her how to ride the waves down to the bottom. They sit down, and it's just like a giant slide except there's nothing to slow them down, so they keep picking up speed till they smash into the TARDIS.

"Ow," Martha says, rubbing her arm where she made contact.

"Yes… Well, off we go then," the Doctor says, trying to pass off that nothing undesirable could _possibly_ happen with him and that he _never_ can be a bit of an idiot.

Sometimes, even he has trouble doing that.

~***~

* * *

Two weeks later, it happens to him again.

He is listening to a melody, his feet resting on the top of the TARDIS's console inclined in a worn-out chair. One of his spectacles' arms is established firmly between his lips as he squints at the papers in his hand. Martha walks in, putting her earrings on.

"That drumming! It's so exotic." She says about the various drum beats and wispy whipping sounds. In his peripherals, he can see her bobbing her head to the beat.

"Mmm…" he replies, reading what can only be described as papers upon papers of complex mathematical equations. They had been left on the console for him to see, but they were not in Martha's writing. Martha was also the first to admit that her maths were not as strong as her sciences, and these calculations were advanced, to say the least.

"I've heard it before," She adds, closing her eyes to pinpoint some memory behind her dark brown eyes.

"Yes, yes, you have." He tells her, replacing the spectacles on his face and dropping his feet down from the console. He places the papers where his feet had just rested. 

"It's from the Ruebella Quadrant."

"No." He says, rising from his chair. He comes and lifts himself onto the console in front of her.

“Karmadexterilia nebula?”

"Nope." He says, the p popping on the end of the word. A broad smile spreads like wildfire across his face. "It's the Blue Man Group."

She frowns and slaps his arm as he laughs maniacally at her.

"You're a bloody git, you are!" she says, somewhat annoyed. "That's it! You can go out yourself today! I could use the time to study so you can take me back for my OSCE this week." She says, throwing her hands up in the air and storming away. She does it a lot; lately, the more she stresses over her medical textbooks, the edgier she is, at least, that's what he's found so far.

Getting the last of his snickers out, he realizes he was a bit of a git. Plus, he never got to talk to her about the papers he was just studying.

Though he's pretty sure she wouldn't know either. Even if she is brilliant. He decides that he's going to do something grand for her, but what? Even with a ship that could travel through time and space, he has difficulty thinking of appropriate gifts for the companions in his life. Perhaps, that trait expands across the universe. He thinks about it for some time and remembers that the last planet they were on was in awe of the local birds and their plumage. She had spent hours learning as much as she could about them, even going as far as to ask if they could take one as a pet. Maybe he will take her to the best animal shelter/zoo in the universe. The only problem is that it's located in a reasonably familiar place.

Barcelona.

Not the _city_ Barcelona, but the _planet._

He hesitates for all of three seconds before shaking his head and beginning to plot out a course. Rose never went to the zoo there. They didn't have enough time between shopping, theatre, and getting caught in the middle of a vast interplanetary smuggling scheme.

They would never run into each other, but just to be sure, he set the TARDIS to visit five years before he and Rose ever got there. It's the best he can do if he wants to keep the zoo's bird section into consideration.

He goes and coerces Martha out from her quarters, where she is brooding.

"Where are we?" she asks as he pulls her towards the gates of the bird exhibit a slight look of curiosity in her eye. It's enough to make him know the trip is worth it. Together for the next hour, they gaze at the most majestic birds in the universe as they fly, dance, sing and play.

"I thought you would never support a zoo," Martha informs him as they walk towards an ice cream stand.

"I don't usually. It's actually a shelter; donations are taken at the door, which pays for the animals' recoveries. Most are initially brought here when they are hurt, ill, or have nowhere else to go. Some have lost their habitats due to war or civilization. So, they have them build large habitats here, and once they are healed, they are reintroduced into their home habitats, if they still exist." He presents her with her own cone and slides her fingers through his as they turn to walk away. Both eat their ice creams in silence when an all too familiar voice rings out from behind them.

"There you are!" he hears her call, and he freezes in horror in place. He knows that voice. He knows it all too well, even after six months. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end as he turns around to see if she's really there, whether she's supposed to be. If he was unsure before he turned, he is definitely in shock now. There she is, blonde hair curled and pulled back, framing her face like a halo.

"Doctor?" Martha whispers, placing a hand gently on his arm since she can see the tension thread through his entire body. He looks down at Martha's side and up to her face, where she can see the pain and love in his eyes.

"Please, Martha, don't _—_ "

Rose reaches him, takes the ice cream out of his hands, and begins to eat it with a petulant look.

"You couldn't grab me one while I was in the' loo?" She inquires, her brow arched sharply. She's wearing the same jumper she wore that day years ago, black with pink trim and straps all over the place. Her soft greenish-brown eyes are inquisitive, but he can already see she is not surprised to see him here. He can sense her need, more now than he could that day. She had needed his comfort, and it's soft against his nostrils, nothing like he's used to, and he can't tell if it's just been too long or if it really is like she's far, far away. She licks the ice cream, and it's not as suggestive as she could make it, but ironically with Martha there, he can tell precisely what Rose wanted upon her apparent return. 

Martha is still frozen beside him, her eyes bulging wide and a smile plastered on her face.

"Where have you been?" Rose challenges, confused, her smile slipping. She slips her hand. She reserved for him into her pocket as her eyes flicker between their hands. 

"Rose." He whispers a thousand emotions linger on one word. He can tell he's staring at her with an intensity, which is not helping the situation in any way, shape or form. How in the universe did this happen? How does he explain this one? And where are the Reapers coming to claim everything they can for creating such a blatant and anatomically apparent paradox? 

Why, why did he think he could get away with bringing Martha to Barcelona?

"Pick up a friend then?" Rose asks, insecurity creeping into her tone in waves. "Seems a bit… touchy-feely, no?" with a nod to how Martha is holding his hand securely.

The Doctor doesn't know what to say before he hears, "Oh, here we go," Martha murmurs before dropping his hand. "This is why we should have discussed this last time," she adds.

"Excuse me?" Rose asks, her eyes narrowing. That spicy flare of anger hits him gently, not as strong as her words. He had forgotten it till now, how she smells when she gets passionate, like peppers and daisies. "Last time?"

"Nothing!" Martha exclaims, her hands held up in protest, "Doctor and I are just mates," she offers before shoving them in her pockets.

"FRIENDS _—_ " He practically yells.

" _—_ Friends, right _—_ "

"Friends. Right." Rose nods, obviously suspicious.

"—only friends. Nothing more, HAHAHA RIGHT MARTHA?"

But Rose just laughs, and he thinks it's the most beautiful sound he has heard in a long time. But it's not her, it's not her laugh at all. It sounds hard and sharp.

"What's so funny?" Martha asks, a bit agitated.

"Nothing, just… paradox, I suppose. I guess it's bound to happen. It's just _—_ you don't seem like the Doctor's type, is all… you seem a bit domestic." Rose says with a condescendingly slight.

"His type? Domestic? Isn't that why he takes us on as companions? Sometimes even wives?" The Doctor wonders if it's possible for both his hearts to give out or stop simultaneously. The entire park is silent as he watches, paralyzed, how Roses face contorts from laughter to confusion to anger and pain.

"You. You mar... must take us to the same places?" Rose chokes out, tears well in her eyes. "You're so. What is _wrong_ with you?" He feels the ice cream cone bounce off his chest as she turns to run.

"Rose, no!" He cries and goes bounding after her. He has to explain to some degree, damage control is not an option; it's crucial for the survival of this universe.

As the Doctor watches Rose turn a corner, he runs only a few steps behind her, but as he rounds the same building, he halts in surprise to see he's run into a dead end. Placing his hands on top of his head, he looks around, confused as to where she's gone. The anger wells inside him, the anger he begins to direct at Martha and himself. But it's not enough, there is more and before he knows it, fury, rage, hate all boil over the edge, and he picks up the nearest trash receptacle and throws it into the brick wall in front of him. And just like it began, it recedes, and he's left with grief as he stumbles backwards and falls onto the nearest park bench.

He waits for the universe to end. For the Reapers to come, for the glitching to start.

But nothing happens.

Rose should _never_ have been here, and not just because she never had come to the zoo, but because it was also five years after they were ever here, there is just no reasonable possibility, and yet she was. Except, wait. Was it before or after? Right. Before. That made no sense. How would she recognize him? If it were five years earlier, then she would have been looking for his previous self. If it wasn't supposed to be five years prior, why was Rose wearing the same outfit? Why did she disappear?

Things were not adding up.

He is thinking about all these things as someone sits down beside him.

"I'm _so_ sorry." Martha offers.

"I know," He replies.

"I didn't _—_ "

"I know," He says again.

"I shouldn't have been so _offended_. She just seemed so mean about it. Was she always like that?"

He weighs her question. The answer is no, no, she wasn't. Because, even with Reinette, how Rose had still smiled bravely and pretended nothing was wrong when they both knew he had chosen to save Reinette and leave her. When he realized she was too afraid to bring it up, that she would always choose him first even if he had proven that that wasn't the case for him. Later on, he felt her dejection and wanted to comfort her. It was too late to bring it up; by then, they were on to a new adventure and a new world, with new problems to solve. Rose was non-confrontational, usually to a fault, at least regarding his behaviour. He realizes sitting with Martha, he groomed her to be that way. Not intentionally, but like a river running over jagged stone, the more time they had spent together, her ethics and questions slowly faded away, and she allowed him to do whatever needed to be done with unconditional faith. His head hurt, finding that he hated himself right now.

"No, she wasn't." He says, standing up from the bench, "This doesn't make sense! Where did she go? Why was she here? Why is time not imploding on itself?" He asks, pulling Martha to her feet.

"Maybe she was never really here?" Martha suggests.

"It's something to think about," the Doctor responds, tilting his head to the side in agreement, then scratches his ear, his trench blowing in the wind. "But then that leads to me wondering why we are sharing the same hallucinations."

"Maybe they're not hallucinations. Maybe something happened, so she didn't remember this." Martha shrugs. "Memories have a way of bending when time and space are in constant flux."

He gives her a look like she's a bit daft, and he finds it oh-so-charming, which is an expression she never really likes when his eyes change with the idea that sparked behind them. He's not looking at her anymore, and she's pleased because when he gets that look in his eyes, it always makes her want to shift within her skin. It's the intensity behind it, the knowledge, wisdom, and passion of hundreds of years.

"Or maybe she doesn't remember because she's not a past Rose." He says, seizing Martha's hand and starts walking back to the TARDIS. If he wasn't in such a flurry, he might have noticed the little red-headed girl peering at him from behind a tree.

Instead, he just files it and goes on his merry way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for being so late in posting, and so I plan to post more chapters today to make up for the last missed dates. Thank you for your Kudo's and Comments!


	6. Mummy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Rose discuss what happened to Rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the first chapter posted tonight, so make sure to go back to Chapter 5: Barcelona so you don't miss out. One more chapter to go tonight to upload to make up for missing posting dates!

_She's on all fours, and she can savour the hunger rising in the back of her throat. It's been an age since she's been free from her cage, from the shackles that tether her to the weak one. She runs, not caring where she ends up tracking scents and dreams across the treeline until she spies her, a little ginger head beyond the trees._

_She slowly advances, inhales the air for any other scent, and tries to find out how she almost missed it, missed her feast._

_The small head belongs to a short body that belongs to a child, a little light. The wolf sits there, staring at the tiny flame of a cherub in front of her. She feels as though she's rising into the air, flying up and far beyond, as they maintain eye contact. She stands on two feet, now Rose again, and she reaches for the child._

_Rose pulls her cherub into her arms, looking beyond her, past the trees and the meadow, the sky and sun._

_A smile passes her lips as she licks her teeth. She may be Rose, but she still is unsatisfied, yet desires the catch, and so she waits, waits for eternity in the shadows, watching for the sun to drop and rise on her prey. They sit together on a hill as they watched the sun go down. She breathes in the scent of the small one in her lap._

_"Mummy," is all she hears._

~***~

* * *

Mickey doesn't realize he's speeding until he almost misses the hospital entrance and slams on the brakes. He looks over to his passenger, Jake, to see if he's hurt, only to have Jake smile at him reassuringly. Slowly, he has the car crawl into the lot till they find adequate parking. When they approach the hospital entrance, it's Jake who wants to check out the gift shop. Mickey is about to agree reluctantly when Jackie greets them. She's been waiting for them to show in the lobby.

"Jackie," Mickey exhales, pulling the woman close in his arms. She smells like baby powder and hairspray; it is an odd combination but utterly Jackie. If situations had worked out differently, this might have been his mother-in-law. Years ago, that scared him, especially when Rose left, and Jackie kept insisting it was he who murdered her. But now, after all the lies, and all the apologies, and the years they have spent loving the girl in the room upstairs, they were closer now than they ever could be. Mickey was just relieved that Jackie had kept him in her life.

"How is she?" He asks while drawing back. Her eyes appear tired, much older than they used too.

"One day they think she has a brain damage, the next she's right as rain, except for, you know, the coma. Then we get a call from Mudd at 3 a.m. saying she keeps calling out for me, for her mummy."

He and Jake had been out of the country on assignment when Rose went into a coma, and it wasn't till they got home, they got the message about the new developments. Almost immediately, he had called Jackie to find out when they could visit.

As Jackie pushes the button to the seventh floor. Once again, Mickey debates if he should tell Jackie about the things he's seen, the amber-eyed Rose who threatened him and terrified him only half a year ago, her raw energy and her power. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut, like he always has, just like he _promised_ Rose.

"How'd you get her into a public hospital, Jackie? Especially since she has no identification," Jake asks as Mickey watches as the numbers go by as they ascend higher. He doesn't want to see her. Not like this. It's times like these that he wishes the Doctor were here.

"I thought Pete would have had to donate to build a new wing or something extravagant. But at Torchwood they did a follow up MRI and everything looked completely normal. Pete told 'em that if there was nothing inhuman with Rose they didn't need to monitor her anymore. As for the identity, well the boys at NIFAL owed the Director a favor."

New Identities for Alien Life was a branch of Torchwood that Rose was working at before whatever was happening to her took over.

"I couldn't have Rose wake up there. She already has given Torchwood so much, and I'm sure she will once again, give them anything they ask for, once she's out of here, but she needs to have a fresh start." Jackie shrugs to Mickey.

The elevator dings to a stop, and they exit the small room to tread down a long passageway. The walls are bare and bland, like the rooms they pass by oh so quietly. Mickey already loathes it here, already feels death and desolation seeping in.

They are finally outside Rose's room when they overhear voices from within. Mickey sees that Jackie is startled when she opens the door and squeals in delight. There is Rose, awake and talking to Pete, who is carrying Elle in his arms.

"Rose! Oh my precious baby girl!" Jackie screeches and grasps her close. Rose laughs weakly and tries to get free from Jackie's death grip.

"Mum… Mum, I can't breathe," Rose says hoarsely, glancing at Mickey. He has tears in his eyes, and he knows it. There she is, speaking like nothing ever happened, that she doesn't have wild and absurd thoughts behind sometimes hazel, sometimes amber eyes.

Mickey breaks her stare with Rose and looks to Pete and Elle. Rose follows his gaze there.

"Besides, you have someone else who better fits those shoes now."

"Don't be daft!" Jackie pulls back to study Rose with a trace of anger in her voice; her brow furrowed in concern. "You will ALWAYS be my baby girl, doesn't matter what it says on paper."

Rose smiles for her mother. "I was just about to be introduced, the doctors came and poked and prodded a bit right before you came in," she lets her mother's hands go.

"Right." Pete says, "Rose Tyler, meet your baby sister, Elle Tyler."

Slowly he places the infant in Rose's arms and then hesitates, takes Rose's face in his hands and kisses her forehead. "You gave your mum and I quite a scare there, dear," he says, quickly wiping his eyes.

Rose peers up at him, a bit in shock by his evident care. The room's tension seems thick until she smiles one of her signature grins and says, "Sorry, Dad… I'll try not to let it happen again."

Everyone is stunned by her response, creating a stillness that seems to stretch out, never-ending. No one was anticipating this, certainly not Mickey, and he wants to talk to her alone. He needs to understand, for Rose to explain what happened, so he may stop feeling utterly helpless and know that he did the right thing.

It's Jake who knows how properly to command the situation.

"Jackie, Pete, you must be starving after all this time here. Now you have a pair of fine and free babysitters, why don't I take you to that little fish shop down the street? You have to be sick of coffee and hospital food by now." Jake watches Mickey with a brief but knowing grin.

"What are you blabbering on about Jake? My Rose just woke up! We have lots to talk about-"

"Sounds wonderful Jake," Pete interrupts, "I'll take Jackie down to the car, and you can finish up your goodbyes." He then takes Jackie by the shoulders and steering her towards the door.

"Wait ONE MINUTE PETE TYLER, IF YOU THINK I'M LEAVING NOW YOU GOT ANOTHER THIN… OI! DON'T YOU THINK YOU CAN WIN ME OVER WITH THAT…" Jackie is shouting loud enough that Rose and Mickey can hear her down the corridor. But as her voice wanes away into the distance, both surmise that they can quietly let their collective breaths go and snicker.

"It's nice to know some things don't change."

Mickey doesn't know what to say; part of him wants to laugh, another part would like to bark at Rose for frightening him and her mother so very much. Part of him knows to just keep calm, and that's the voice he ends up listening to in the end. No one will ever get the chance to call him Mickey the Idiot again.

Jake smiles at Rose and kisses her cheek before looking to Mickey. _Thank you,_ Mickey mouths to his friend before he leaves. Then there is silence, a silence only disrupted by Elle's soft cooing in Rose's arms and the mechanisms monitoring her weak system.

He watches as Rose stares down, lovingly at her younger sister.

"She's so lovely," Rose says, the sun catching her in a way, that to Mickey, it looks like she and the baby are gleaming. Elle is holding Rose's finger in her tiny fist as she looks back up at her with big blue eyes.

"Yeah, she is. Your mum and Pete didn't know what to name her so they let you. You were pretty far gone by then but I remembered that Elle Enchanted was one of your favourite films." He says.

"It was Ella Enchanted," Rose responds, behind a smile she cannot hold back.

"Oh… oh no… uh…." Mickey starts.

"Don't worry 'bout it. I won't tell a soul." She answers, looking back down to Elle, "Besides, Elle's kinda fitting. If she was Ella, then I would have to be the ugly stepsister." A melancholy smile on her face. He sees as the smile turns to confusion as she ponders for a minute then turns back to him.

"How long was I… _away_ for?"

Mickey knew this was coming. This is the inquiry she only felt comfortable asking him, and no one else. This was the relationship that she needed in this new world. So he wasn't going to sugar coat it. He wasn't going to lie to her.

"What's the last month you can still remember?" he asks her.

She has to reflect for a minute, and he waits as she mimics her mother's furrowed brow. "I think the beginning of No… the middle of February."

"It's the beginning of September."

"I've been crazy for SIX MONTHS?" Elle begins to cry a moment before Rose soothes her with a rock of her arms.

"You weren't crazy." He insists.

"Tell that to the doctors that prescribed me with medication for my apparent SEVERAL mental health disorders." She rasps, and Mickey seizes the glass of water off the stand beside her bed.

"Small sips, the body's still getting used to it." He informs her, tipping the glass to her partially cracked lips. She does as she's told and is thankful for the help. As she sips, Mickey decides this is the best time to explain.

"On paper, you have Epilepsy and Synthesia. They want to talk to you more and study you before they diagnose you with anything else. Pete and I," he falters. "We told them you'd comply."

She lays there, letting the waves of comprehension of what he has to say wash over her. "It makes sense. Let me pick my prison, and I'll eventually be thanking them for their graciousness."

"It's not all bad. There is a very, very small group of people who know the truth. Dr. Mudd and two members of his team, Gwen and Gemma. Pete, Jake, myself, and two contacts that Pete is protecting in NIFAL. This way, if you go back to work, you still have a chance to climb the ladder. And we might learn from what happened. You left quite a bit for them to organize and learn from. At least that's how Dr. Mudd justified they're working on you." He trails off, "If we had let him have his way, you'd have a diagnosis of schizophrenia, and they would have kept you in restraints. Your dad and I pulled a lot of leverage to keep this quiet."

"Thank you," she mutters once she is ceased sipping the cold liquid. He sits down beside the bed and clutches her hand between his own. He still can't believe she is conscious, or intelligible for that matter.

"For what. I sold you down the river." He laments, understanding the gravity of their future now that she is awake. He can't let her know that they are sending him away again. That for her to have her freedom, Jake and he sold themselves special ops.

"For telling me the truth. For not abandoning me when things got rough. For, trying at the very least."

"We found your notes, Jake and I. Your mum wanted us to clear out your apartment, said she knew she shouldn't have let you lived alone. So there we were, packing it all up, and we found them under your bed. The math Rose, I don't quite know what the calculations are for, but they are absolute brillian'."

"Burn them," she murmurs, pulling her hand away from his to hold Elle to brush a lock of hair off her forehead. So much hair for a baby.

"What? Why? You obviously made them for a reason." Mickey says, confused by her reaction. Why would she want him to destroy months of work? Work that clearly meant a lot to her.

"I did make them for a reason, but they've already filled their purpose. Burn them, please. They'll only cause more harm than good."

"How did you have time to do 'em? Don't you even want to see before I burned them?"

"They don't have anything to say that I don't already know in here," she says, clutching her heart. "Maths are the true universal language."

He thinks it's strange she refers to her heart when speaking of complicated mathematical theories, but to each his (or her for that matter) own.

"How do you feel?" He asks, inching closer to her bed. He looks down at Elle, who is now asleep in Rose's arm. In a different universe, this could have been his moment. He imagines her gazing down at their daughter, safe from the magical allure of aliens and time travel. He wonders how many universes are out there where she would have picked him, and how many she always chose to leave.

Sighing, she looks down at the baby asleep in her arms, "Like I've been dragged down ten kilometres of bad road, but other than that, my head feels a lot better."

He nods and finally gets up onto the bed beside her and holds her. Rose welcomes the touch, and there they are, just the three of them. Mickey isn't startled when he feels warm drops of tears against his arm, or the sound of muffled sniffling underneath his chin until there are no tears left to spill. After the tears, the only sound in the room is that of the baby's breathing as she sleeps in Rose's arms and the machines that monitor her.

"Rose, I gotta ask…" He says sometime later.

"Mmm?" She asks.

"Did… I mean no offense, I miss him too but is this because of _—"_

"No," She interrupts, but there are no indications of the other angry amber-eyed girl who would have reacted before.

"Then, why'd it go away?" He asks her.

"I don't know. I don't even know if it is really _gone_. I can't really remember a lot, except for one thing."

"What's that?" He questions and draws away from her to search her eyes. He still is stunned to find no trace of amber, no glowing that builds from the depths within her. All there is is soft brown and green, framed by long lashes.

"He's coming."


	7. The Man in the Blue Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes for Rose, bonding with her sister Elle and reliving her memories in lucid dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter posted recently was five, so be sure to check there first!

"Tell me a story," Elle requests.

Rose smirks down tenderly at the six-year-old in her bed. "You know my tales get me in trouble with your mum." The bed is enormous compared to the wee body in it, but it has never been an issue when she spends the night at her 'cousin' Rose's house. Elle gazes sleepily through long dark lashes that flutter against her cherub cheeks.

"She thinks the stories make you sad," Elle replies, "I told Mummy you like telling me stories. I promise I won't make you tell the sad ones." Her bright blue eyes growing wider as she nods her small strawberry blonde head as a promise. Rose gazes soulfully at her; Elle's eyes do not remind her of her mother's, or even Pete's. They are reminiscent of _his_. Blue eyes that knew how to get what they wanted out of her.

"Oh yeah? And what did she say to that?" Rose asks, fluffing her sister's pillow. She sighs as she realizes that it's hard to even force herself to say cousin in her head, even after all these years.

She places the pillow under Elle's head before she lays back, and Rose brushes a curl off her face.

"She says that you will never forget if you keep telling me." Elle moans dramatically, rolling on to her side, grasping her puppy stuffie. Rose thinks about this and sits down on the bed beside her. "But Miss Devlin says forgetting is a bad thing."

"Why did your teacher tell you forgetting was bad?" Rose inquires, amused, stroking another lock of her hair.

"I dunno," Elle sighs, her eyes blinking longer as she continues, "she just tells us 'don't forget' lots." 

Rose feels her heart stir as her sister opens her eyes with energy anew. This seemed to be a common occurrence at bedtime. There's a pattern of behaviour Rose is well versed in, and they were still only in phase one.

"I see," Rose answers. "Well, I shouldn't tell you a story if your mum doesn't want me to." Rose finishes curtly and stands up to leave. This is how they moved into phase two.

"Please, Rowo! Please! I promise I won't tell her. Just a little one." Elle begs, putting her hands together and trying to sit up. Sighing, Rose places her hands on the small girl's frame and pushes her gently back against the mountain of pillows.

"Please, RoRo?" Elle whispers, working to enunciate her r's.

"Of course, Ellie-Bellie, I have to turn the big lights out first." She whispers back, turning the table lamp on before crossing the room to turn off the overheads.

_"Rose!" He screams at her, and she could see the fear in his eyes. She is slipping, and he cannot get to her; in less than a few seconds, she's going to be sucked into the void…_

_"HOLD ON!"_

She shakes the memory from her like a bad chill and returns to the little person curled up on her bed.

"Once upon a time, there was a man. He lived in a blue box. The blue box was a magical blue box that was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside, and the box could take you anywhere _—"_

 _"_ I know this part." Elle interrupts. "Tell me NEW parts."

"The man had a companion. A girl with blonde hair who travelled with him." She starts all her stories to Elle like this. "It was a day like every other day when the man who lived in a blue box and the girl decided to go on an adventure…" She starts, "But not before the girl went to visit her mum…"

~***~

* * *

Later, Rose sits at her kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea. The rain outside her flat lashes against the window, causing her to feel nostalgic.

Moving to the window, she rests her head against the cold glass, staring out into the night. The stars are faded against a dark blue tapestry, and she wishes she could muster the spirit to use the telescope she purchased last year.

_"How long did you wait?" He asked her after holding her in his arms so tightly._

_"Five-and-a-half hours."_

She had waited, waited to know that he had made his choice. Waited to know that in the end, the fairy tale ended the way it was supposed to, happily ever after, and she had been expendable. But he had come back to her; she had still been apart of the 'Ever After' even if she hadn't been the princess of the story.

It didn't work that way this time.

Five-and-a-half hours had come and gone more than five-and-a-half years earlier. But still, Rose waited. She waited because it was a base instinct within her. She stayed because although she didn't remember much of her time as a Torchwood patient (her experiences outweighed as an employee), she did remember one thing. She knew he would come. She had done something to make it possible. And so, she waited because it helped her get through the monotonous days.

She wondered, was this how he felt with Reinette? Everything he could ever want at his fingertips. The promise of a family, domestic bliss, an excellent position in society, the love of someone special, and yet he still longed for the sky? She doesn't even know to this day how long he had spent with Madame de Pompadour; she never dared to ask; she never had the heart, considering hers felt somewhat broken. Had he been there with the King's Consort for a few hours? Days? Months before he came back for her and Mickey? Had he thought of her at all? Or had he succumbed to the facts, the way everyone else expected her to do in her present situation?

He loves them all. She knows it. She finds she rarely sleeps now, and when she does, she dreams of him.

And, of course, Claire, which is what she named the auburn child.

In the stillness of her flat, the rain battering her window, a six-year-old in her bed, Rose recollects a speech Jackie's had given before she and the Doctor had left for a walk that night.

'Rose,' Jackie had said, 'Don't forget about who and what he is.'

To which Rose had frowned.

_'Don't give me that daft look!' Jackie begins,' God knows he's worked his way into my heart like the little weasel he is. All I'm saying is that I know it's easy to forget, and you can't. You can't forget who and what he is. You can't forget who and what you are. If ya do, you'll never remember your way back."_

_"He's not Peter Pan, and I'm not Wendy, mum." She chortled, giving her mother a strange look, "And we're just going for a walk. Here. In London. When we are in town we stay with **you**. I stay in my room, and he on the couch. You act as though this is the last time you're going to see me." _

_"I never know with you, Rose." Jackie sighed. "I just want you to be careful and protect your heart, alright?"_

_"I will, mum, promise. I'll never forget, okay?"_

Rose finds it funny and somewhat ironic Jackie now wishes she would; how can she ever forget? How could she fail to remember how he held her, the way he smelt when she was close, the way he looked at her and made her laugh. Sometimes in the depths of her sleep, Rose remembers how his lips felt. Her mother had known what was going on before she was willing to acknowledge it to herself. Before he was ready to admit it to the both of them.

She pulls out the bed inside her couch and begins to make it up. There's enough room for her to sleep with Elle, but in the last few months, Elle's been kicking off the covers in the middle of the night. It also hasn't helped that she radiates heat like a star. Rose would instead get a good night's sleep before tomorrow's activities.

_They are lying down in a park while staring up at the stars from the comfort of his trench, the way they did back on New Earth, and she has her head on his chest with his arm around her. Rose remembers when she had to make up reasons why she should be allowed to rest her head there—little reasons like how she wanted to hear his double heartbeat. And at first, that was all it was. But as they spent more time together hand in hand, sometimes daring to hold each other, she found he was growing more open to her affections. Hands-check, holding one another other-check, kissing- well, she realizes it's happened but knows that isn't a boundary they're crossing currently. Still, she's not going to mention anything about long fingers now at the base of her skull entangled in her hair. It wasn't that long ago he was leaving her with Mickey to figure things out for herself. And yet, ever since he pulled her and the rest of the crew out of a black hole, she doesn't think he could hold her any tighter. They have time; they have all the time in the universe to get to something more._

_"There's so many…" She whispers against his lapel, still laying there under the stars._

_"Billions upon billions," he lazily adds._

_Rose opens her eyes when she realizes she's dozing off. She had been musing on his heartbeats and discerned that she wasn't in the best position to hypothesize on the stars. What with her leg currently over top of his and her arm wrapped around him._

_"It's funny to think that humans believe they are the only intelligent life out there," She murmurs, and he chortles slightly, her head bouncing against his chest. She lifts it to look at him, using this as her opportunity to untangle her limbs from his._

_"Something funny?" She asks him suspiciously._

_"Yes, No—Never mind."_

_"No, tell me!" she begs him, resting her chin against his chest, watching as he lifts his head a touch to look at her._

_"It's mean, and… not very nice? Yes, I've decided you probably don't want to know. Mum's the word and all that."_

_She shrugs her shoulders and lays her head down against him again, only this time in the crook of his shoulder so she can look up better at the sky above them. She knows he'll eventually tell her; he always does. She just has to leave the topic alone for a little while._

_"How many up there we can see have you visited?" she asks him._

_"Not enough, and too many." It's his turn to move, he removes his arm from underneath her, and she senses the loss of his warmth. Moments later, he's on his side, his elbow propping him up while he strokes her hair._

_"Show me."_

_He points to a random star in the sky, "That one…" Then another, "That one, that one over there on the tail end."_

" _The little one?" she asks, trying to figure out where he's pointing._

" _Both, actually." He tells her, and she smiles as she rolls against him. She breaths deep and smell the faint scent of sandalwood and lavender. She feels his arms wrap around her._

_"What about that one?" She inquires into the fabric of his chest. No longer looking at the sky. She feels his body tension, and she realizes her breath must feel warm on this chilly autumn night._

_"Sure, when it existed." He whispers in her ear._

_"Existed?" She looks up at him then to the vast expanse above her, her interest shifting back to the night sky._

" _Rose, stars are usually balls of gas burning billions of light-years away." He tells her plainly. "The majority of the stars we see have died, moved on, but their light is still travelling through time, lighting up the sky. Most new stars don't even reach Earth until they extinguish."_

_"That's beautiful," She murmurs again. She sits up so she can focus better._

_"That's science." He retorts._

_She thinks of the science of stars for a few minutes. Then Rose reflects on all the artists in the world who died before their works were regarded as masterpieces. She thinks of sharing this thought with him and realizes he's probably already considered something similar way before she ever entered his life._

_Just another example of not knowing what you have until it's gone._

_She looks down, where her Doctor is propping himself up on both elbows. She looks down at his face and is confused by its underlying irritation._

_"What about that one?" she asks, breaking the silence. She points at a tiny dot in the sky, smaller than any other around it. She wonders if he'll be able to tell what she's looking at. "Did you ever go there?"_

_"Yes." He says very carefully, his eyes softening, "Lived there even."_

_Surprised, she pushes his shoulders down, laying him flat onto his back, a smile breaking her face in two. "You?! Living on one planet for some time? When was this?"_

_She notices he will not look at her, that his face is carefully guarded when he responds, "When I was a child, that's my home planet."_

_She feels as though she's sinking, "Oh God, I'm so sorry," she offers, her head dipping in the crevice between his shoulder and upper body._

_"Nah, don't be," He tells her, fingers back in her hair, massaging her, calming her._

_"What was its name?" She asks._

" _What, I never told you?" he asks her curiously with a hint of surprise._

" _No, you don't tend to talk much about the past, well yours, at least."_

_"Its name was Gallifrey." He says tenderly._

_"How can we see it if it was never really in existence?" She asks him, looking up from her position from the crevice of his shoulder, and she watches as his features contort to confusion._

_"I mean, the time war, if it happens at all times in history, wiping it out…"_

_"Well, it existed. The Daleks couldn't have wiped it out of space and time entirely without leaving its imprint behind. The light you barely see is its fingerprint." He gazes at her. He offers a tight smile, but she can see the tears on the edges of his eyes before he lays his head back down._

_Not wanting to push it, she doesn't ask much more._

_She imagines what it would be like to see the sun's light reflecting off the Earth from a distance, but knowing that there was no way she could come back, no matter how brightly it beckoned to her. She shivers at the thought, and he holds her tighter as she rests her head against his chest once more. Silence passes between them before she hears his voice begin again._

_"My entire childhood, all I wanted was to fly away and never return. That was the only thing that made me go to the Academy. I used to dread going back even as an adult, and when I went to war, I remember thinking that I would give anything to see it unharmed."_

_"Well… within reason." He adds, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze._

_"Academy?"_

_"Time Lords are the dominant species on Gallifrey, but you can be a Gallifreyan without being a Time Lord. And then, not all Time Lords can pilot a TARDIS, but you have to be a Time Lord to be able to pilot a TARDIS."_

_"If all Boogles are Battuns, and some Battuns are Trandles, all Trandles must be Boogles," She says while squirming to get comfortable again beside him._

_"What with the what now?" he queries._

_"It's an A-level question."_

_"I thought you never took your A-levels." He replies, a hint of confusion._

_"I didn't, but I studied for them. I struggled with Maths, and that was, well, difficult for me." She's feeling relatively insecure again._

_"Well no wonder, I know for a fact that not all Boogles are Battuns, and absolutely no Trandles are Battuns… they come from a completely different galaxy!" He exclaims._

_"I can never tell when you're serious."_

_"Is that a bad thing?" she hears him ask barely above a murmur._

_She doesn't know how to answer, so she doesn't. "So basically, you were the cream of the crop because you were a Time Lord and could pilot a TARDIS?"_

_"Not… exactly." He answers somewhat guardedly. She feels him tense underneath the weight of her head._

_"What does that mean, not exactly?" Her eyes tilting up at him to study his jaw._

_"It means just that— not exactly."_

_"Not exactly can mean a lot of things, Doctor. I could say I'm not exactly an astronaut."_

_"Exactly!" he exclaims with joy, squeezing her closer to him, happy to believe the conversation had concluded._

_"I did just tell you I can never tell when you're serious, right?" she asks._

_"Yes, yes, you did."_

" _Just checking." They lie there in silence, neither one entirely comfortable, neither ready to move._

_"I kind of borrowed the TARDIS."_

_"You what?" she counters, lifting her head and placing her hand on his chest for support as she stares down at him with surprise and shock._

_"I borrowed the TARDIS?" His eyes squint in proportion to the pitch change in his voice._

_"How exactly did you 'borrow' the TARDIS?" she challenges, her eyes narrowing, waiting for him to spill the beans. He won't meet her gaze as he places his arms under his head, cradling himself. She leans closer, and her hair falls onto his face, but he still looks away onward._

_"... I merely took it when no one was looking and planned to return it once finished making use of it."_

_"You STOLE the TARDIS?!" She squeals loudly, raising her body even further from the ground, higher above him._

" _Borrowed… or did you miss that part?" He states, turning his gaze towards her, both his hands come down now resting on his chest._

_"Doctor!" She exclaims, her voice raised in a scandalized falsetto._

_"Rose!" He parrots her tone and sits up._

_"You took a TARDIS!" She beams at him, but she still sounds shocked by his hubris. They're facing each other now on the blanket they brought with them to lay on._

_"Well, I wouldn't have had to if they would have given me one." He's resting his arms on his knees, and she used to think this was him raising walls, but she's begun to experiment with her preconceived notions. She edges closer to him and rests her head on his knee._

_"And why, wouldn't they have given you one?" Her voice is soft and genuine._

_He gives back and smiles warmly at her. " Because the Time Lords were a stuffy, grumpy, boring race."_

_"And?" she adds, knowing that if she keeps prodding, he'll tell her the real reason. She can sense this is something that she can pry about; she can tell from his demeanour as they banter back and forth._

_"Because they don't like my charming sense of humour?"_

_"And…" she adds once more for effect._

_"Because I never took the piloting test?"_

_"Oh my God… You don't even have your a-levels?" She realizes before a giggle starts bubbling up inside her. She moves her head off his leg and looks heaven bound to keep the mirth form ruining her makeup._

_"Well, I wouldn't put it THAT way…" he says, reaching for her hand._

_"I'm never going to let you live this down. You have to know that." She says, smiling wickedly as she takes it, and he's far warmer than she is. It feels warm wrapped around her fingers._

_"Oh please, after everything we've been through, do you really think I support standardized testing." He responds, bringing her digits up to his lips and blowing on them._

_"Well, now I know why you failed them." She murmurs, biting her bottom lip._

_"I did not **fail** , I just did not show, there's a difference," he protests, continuing on his mission to warm up her hands. She tries to focus on their conversation and not what his gesture is doing to her inside. _

_"Uh-huh, so you're saying you slept in—"_

_"No! no… well, maybe…" he says, grabbing for her other hand and applying the same remedy. She tries to focus her eyes on the tips of her white nails and not his mouth._

_"It really was because the Time Lords were boring and strict. Even when I was young, I was an outcast. Even in the Academy, I knew that I would be the black sheep no matter how hard I tried. I doubt I would have ever received a piloting license, and back then, they grew TARDIS' like they grow oranges. They barely noticed for the longest of times."_

_"But they did… eventually notice." She meets his eyes, and she can sense that he's asking her if her hands feel better, and she nods._

_"Yes. And let's just say, I have been exiled to Earth more than once." He tells her and pulls her closer to him because she is beginning to shiver._

_"Do you want to go?" He asks her, concerned._

_"Not yet." She pleads. "This isn't the end of this memory."_

_"Mummy—"_

Rose wakes to find Elle standing in front of her in the dark. Her eyes wide open, and she realizes that this would be a horrifying way to awaken to an ordinary person.

"Ellie-Bellie, it's RoRo."

"Mummy, Biscuit got out." Elle whispers and Rose realizes she's sleepwalking again. This wasn't uncommon for Elle, just like it wasn't that uncommon when Rose was the same age.

"Okay, monkey, let's get you back in bed." Rose yawns and gently pushes the little shoulders back to the bedroom.

~***~

* * *

_The Doctor stands there, watching as the orange sun fades behind the trees in the distance, creating a pink backdrop against a blue sky. He sighs and breathes in the deep crisp air while pushing a small girl on a tire swing, which hangs from a single tree in the middle of the meadow. He watches as her hair flows longer as he pushes her higher and changes direction as she descends back down to him._

_"Why am I here?" he asks her, confused._

_"You want to be," she murmurs, "There is a reason why Earth is your favourite planet. Not just because of the humans or the beasts, or how the sun is orange, and you had never seen the blues so intense before, as it hung there in the sky. It's not even because of how the sun tastes when it's setting or rising, like an overripe peach."_

_"It is because it is in my blood." They say in unison._

_"I don't taste the sun." He blurts out, continuing to push the swing, shackled to his current spot._

_"That must come from Mummy."_

_"Why are you here, then?" he asks her. He wants so badly to see her face, but the swing doesn't follow ordinary physics; it stays focused forward. He's unsure if they are conversing aloud or if the conversation has been in his head._

_"Because you are." She tells him simply, and he continues to push her higher so she can reach the horizon. Then, there it is, and he doesn't know how he never saw the creature before; it sits there like it has been watching since the dawn of time and will sit there waiting until its end._

_A large white wolf._

_"Why is she here?" he asks the girl, already knowing the answer before feeling her voice wisps through his mind._

_"Because," she says, "Badwolf is trying to find you."_

_He watches her lick her teeth, and he can hear a faint howl in the wind._

_"Mummy,"_

_"Mummy, Biscuits got out."_

He wakes in front of the console.

~***~

* * *

She's staring at herself in the mirror. Elle was back to bed with Biscuits, the puppy tucked underneath her arms. This was getting to be a regular occurrence over the week. Her puppy stuffy was her favourite, even though she was always trying to convince everyone it was her pet wolf.

But since Jackie and Pete left on a three-week tour of Africa and she had just assumed it was Elle adjusting to her feelings about the separation. Rose opens the mirror to look at a library of medications and lotions before she grabs the moisturizer. For a brief second, she had considered taking the sleeping pill, but when she had checked the clock and saw that it was 2 a.m., she knew that would ruin her day she had planned with Elle tomorrow. Resigned to not have the best sleep, she finishes rubbing the lotion into her face before returning it back to behind the mirror. She heads back into the bedroom and lays beside her seven-year-old sister. She sighs, thinking about the last year, how wearisome it's become. She turns on her side and looks at the little lady in front of her. She pushes the light strawberry blonde hair currently plastered to her small face off to the side. Rose has found Elle can't help but sleep better when she shares the bed with her anyway.

Earlier that night, Elle had commanded Rose to tell her a tale about the man in the blue box.

"I have told you **all** the stories about the man in the blue box." She had sighed, tucking the comforter around her little body.

"You haven't told me the story about what happened to the blonde girl. Why did she stop travelling the stars with the man?"

Rose hesitated before realizing that she would have to tell Elle if she was ever going to move past this.

"Fine, this is the last story about the man in the blue box. After this, I won't have anything left for you to know."

~***~

* * *

_"So, Earth has been your home before, too?" Rose queries, as she rests her head on his shoulder, the Ferris wheel slowly lifts skyward._

_"For a very brief time that seemed like ages, but yes, it has." He breathes out, rubbing his cheek on the top of her head. She looks at the blanket of stars above them._

_"So, you couldn't… see yourself… I suppose, staying again." She proposes, barely audible enough for a reasonable person to hear. But she knows this isn't the case with him. She knows he heard her because she can feel his muscles tense under her hand and head. The question hangs in the air between them as the sounds of the carnival echo below. She sighs and snuggles closer to him, just happy with the contact she can get now._

_This time, in this memory, her synesthesia is in full bloom, and he smells like sandalwood and lavender. She likes to believe that when he smelt like that, he must have been content. She's excited about the fact she can tell she's dreaming. She has been practicing lucid dreaming for the last year and tries to glean every opportunity to enjoy him whenever he appears to her. She nips at his throat, and she hears a soft groan at the back of his throat._

_"Miss Tyler, what will the locals think?" he murmurs as she nuzzles her lips closer to his ear._

_"They will think, 'those two look like they're going to be forever.'" she whispers in his ear as she slips her hand onto his knee and gently squeezes._

_"We can't have a typical reunion, Elle's in bed beside you." He reminds her softly. She runs her lips down his collarbone until she sighs and rests her head._

_"You're right. It's just been a while since you met me here." She softly responds, his hand moving to wrap her fingers through his. She closes her eyes, and traces of lives never lived flutter through her mind like the soft gossamer of memories. She sees herself approaching him at an altar, Claire watching them from the side. In one vision, Rose has her hand pressed to his chest but can feel only one of his hearts beating. In another, he has both his hands in her hair as she holds onto him as he places her on a bathroom counter. She feels his mouth close over hers and knows that this one will never leave her._

_Then visions of herself dying an old woman and his aged face above her, or she dies by being sucked into a black hole._   
_A handsome stranger saying hello to her; sadly, he seems sadder than she has ever seen him, but she doesn't know him yet._   
_She's standing above his grave with a young child against her hip._   
_She wishes him a Merry Christmas._

_The memories all linger, leaving small imprints in her soul, but she now knows they are ripples of the Badwolf, from when he died for her. The only reason she knows what they are is that she got up the courage to ask._

_"Isn't it ironic that we always want the things that we can't have? Or is it just perceptions—" she asks him, knowing how deeply he misses Gallifrey._

_"To think we could have had each other." She adds, but that is only this time. She's far braver in her dreams than the actual moments they shared._

_"Ironic? Are you sure? Isn't that just coincidence?" he whispers against her temple._

_"No, I'm sure it's irony… wait…" She thinks._

_"Do you really want to go into grammar and language dynamics with me, Rose Tyler?" he questions. Their ride on the wheel was over, and so he pulls her towards a small vendor for cotton candy. He offers her one, and she shakes her head._

_"I always hated irony; it has such a vague meaning, and no one uses it correctly." She huffs and waits, but he doesn't say anything as he stuffs his mouth full of cotton candy._

_"This is where you said if it's any consolation they—"_

_"—abolish it within the 24th century," he interrupts. "Sorry, I forgot."_

_"Aww, yes, that does help, thank you." She responds._

_"Are we taking pictures this time? Sorry to ruin our routine, just curious."_

_She looks wistfully at the booth where she sat in his lap and snapped their only photos in there. "No... not tonight. Like you said, Elle's with me, and the last few times we came here, it leads us to temptation. Walk down the boardwalk instead?" She offers, and they link their arms together and begin to fall away from the rest of the carnival-goers._

_"I think this is where I say_ ′ _I always loved a good oxymoron. Things like 'bittersweet' and 'educated guess.'" He says. She smiles as they listen to the waves crash._

_"Living death." She adds before veering him into the sand. He follows her as she sits down, resting on shore with her._

_"Dry Ice."_

_"False hope." She offers._

_"Intelligent Life."_

_They sit in silence, and it finally clicks what he was laughing about the last time they had a date under the stars._

_"Oh, you ARE a right bastard!" she exclaims, getting up out of their comfortable snuggle, and he is laughing maniacally at her. She goes to tickle him but finds herself lying on the ground, and when he rolls her over, so she's pinned beneath his weight._

_"Nice try, Rose Tyler," he murmurs in her ear, and she can smell him still that faint smell of sandalwood, cinnamon and vanilla. But there's something else there, something more substantial, She can taste him in her mouth, and she knows it's not the ocean air. She sees the vibrant colours around him, a galaxy all by himself. Her mouth waters from it as he pulls away from her ear with a devilish grin on his face. Then he gets up and runs off, and she finds she needs to catch her breath before running after him._

She sips the tea once more before looking at the clock, which reads 4 a.m. She has to be at work in two hours. Sighing, she goes to her medicine cabinet in search of the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed. Once opened, she searches for the bottle of pills among the twenty other bottles decorating her medicine cabinet. She finds the one she is looking for and closes the mirror.

It is then she sees her reflection in the mirror.

It surprises her that she doesn't recognize the girl looking back; after all, not much has really changed. Her hair is perfect, no roots are showing beyond the platinum blonde, her skin unmarred. She doesn't look a day over nineteen, except for small minor changes. Her eyes are tired looking, foggy even, and dark underneath from lack of sleep. She can't remember the last time she smiled that she tries to force it and feels a bit silly. Sighing, she looks at the bottle in her hands and then throws it in the trash. Opening the cabinet, she begins to throw all the bottles away until there is nothing there but a toothbrush and some paste.

Closing the mirror, she smiles sadly. Switching off the bathroom light, she goes into the bedroom where her sister is already asleep and climbs up beside her, wrapping her arms around her small form. Tomorrow she thinks, tomorrow she'll take the day off. Take Elle shopping, maybe get a haircut and strip the out the blonde. After all, tomorrow is a new day.

And she has run out of stories to tell.


	8. Alternative Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is real and what are dreams? Rose and the Doctor try to decipher what is happening from separate universes.

Rose is sitting at a board table, studying over two separate releases. Both are on how to deal with the current systems of migration of aliens coming to Earth. One addressed slowly cutting down on how many are allowed to resettle until they reach a certain quota, and no others were allowed in, perhaps reaching out to other countries and seeing if they would be willing to begin their own alien immigration policy. Another document believed that if they did it that way, it would take too long, and before they knew it, more than thirty percent of Britain's population would be of alien descent, which wasn't the main issue. The main point is that many of the cultures resettling on Earth were bartering races, which didn't work for their current economy. The document said that they didn't have the funds or resources to keep bringing them in, and if they did, the economy would crash.

Rose sighs, looking over the documents. Then, she looks back up at the faces waiting with bated breath on what her decision was going to be. As the Director of Torchwood, she knew that some resolutions would be challenging to make; she just didn't think it would be this soon.

"I think that over the last few years that relations with surrounding species have been relatively stable, and on good terms." She sighs, dropping the paperwork in her hand to the table in front of her. She knocks on the wood of the table for good measure and rubs the bridge of her nose. "It is because of our immigration policy that we have had such good responses from surrounding species'. Therefore we lack war-created intricate trade policies. This, in turn, has supported our research ventures. We have been fortunate to not need more government funding in that regard, keeping most of our innovations away from weapons status. Nevertheless, I do think that the interest of Britain is the more relevant position here, and if we were to try Dr. Sleven's proposition, we would end up with a broken economy, affecting our place in the EU, which is not something we can afford. Especially if we plan on advancing further our research ventures. Therefore, it is with regret that I have decided that no further increases in immigration policy will be awarded until more substantial research can be provided on how we can counteract those measures. Current available spots to migrate will be halved effective immediately and then split again as per prior policy revisions. Meeting adjourned."

There's already an outcry in the room, and no one is willing to leave just yet. Sleven, a young researcher from NIFAL, stands up to say something.

"Director Tyler, I think the decision your making is absurd. How are we supposed to turn away alien life now, especially with the Flolock planets at civil war? Many refugees are coming here to escape."

"I am aware of the Flolock wars, and they have my deepest condolences, but it's my responsibility to put the human race first. I feel that this current situation is unavoidable, even for a brief amount of time. Reallocating NIFAL and Technologies' funding towards research and diplomatic missions may be how we get the Quintarians out of the Flolocky zone. Need I remind you, we already have proof of how our citizens respond to immigrants when the economy is on the brink of collapse. We do not need to put aliens in the mix and have a war erupt here at home."

"Humane? Humane would be to still accept them. By the time our funding is reinstated and the research has been verified, millions of Quintarians will have died in combat or as bystanders. These peoples have been our closest allies, trading elements and technology with us for very little in return, other than safe passage to Earth. Where is your empathy? Your compassion?"

_"Well?" Rose asks him._

_"My empathy?" he retorts, turning on her, his ears bright red in anger, his eyes cold blue, before shaking his head and turning away._

_"Look, I've said I'm sorry how many times about your arrogant little boyfriend. What do you want from me?" he barks at her as he storms down one of the long corridors of the TARDIS. Adam had gone off exploring the ship without learning a few of the quick ground rules, and she begged him to help her find him._

_"But it's not jus' that, you almost killed that Dalek today, it wasn't going to do anything but die, it didn't even hurt me, but you were ready to not give it the chance to do that! He wasn't the one torturin' you, but you treated him like he was!"_

_He stops, and she runs right into the back of him before he turns and places his hands on her shoulders. He looks down at her with eyes sad but so distant that she regrets bringing it up._

_"You are so brave and so strong, stronger than I think you give yourself credit for. And yet you are still_ **so** _naïve." He tells her, tears welling before he closes his eyes. They stand there in silence for a minute while she shifts her weight before he opens his eyes again, and he's retracted into himself even more. Rose knows now she has done this to him and worries that she has ruined something between them, broken some chord that kept them together. She then remembers the Dalek's words as he negotiated the release of the bulkhead. "What use are emotions if you cannot save the woman you love?"_

_She bites her lip, waiting for him to speak, wondering what he really feels right now._

_"One of these days, Rose Tyler, you are going to be faced with decisions that you know the resolution to, solutions that will not make sense to anyone else. Others will see you as a monster, the same way you're looking at me right now, but **I know** you'll do the right thing. You always do. Where's my empathy? I see it when I look into your eyes." He gives her a brief smile, one that causes her own eyes to well, and takes she takes his hand out of instinct when he turns to walk again. He accepts it and doesn't say anything as she sniffs away the tears that escaped. _

Sleven perceptions are not wrong. Rose can find commonality in his frustration and concerns about the Quintarians. Nonetheless, it is not in Torchwood's best interest for him to be causing dissent at this present time. "Meeting is adjourned Sleven, I have already made my decision."

Slowly team begins to rise from their seats, muttering lightly to each other, and as Rose turns to leave, she can hear Sleven say, "Her Father would have never would have let this happen."

She stands there, waiting, as she hears a co-worker of Sleven's make a noise of agreement. "Nothing has been the same. She only got the position because of him. She clearly has no concept of how to do the actual work."

She groans internally. She had been hoping they would not force her hand in front of the Board of Directors. She knew that her review was impending, and two of the board members had already voiced their concerns were that she was too soft, too feminine to handle intergalactic diplomacy. They still hadn't wrapped their mind around the possibilities of the future, when they would have to deal with inter-dimensional relationships.

Turning back, she sees that it was McHolly making a comment. "Mr. McHolly, if you'd be so kind as to join me in my office in ten minutes, I'd like to discuss something with you." She articulates over the top of the mumbling, and it's evident to everyone she heard their remarks. She watches them sulk into themselves as she turns and walks out of the boardroom and down the corridor. Director Tyler walks back to her office, her heels clicking against the cold floor, thinking of how she will set the example. This isn't the first time she's heard comments like this. Torchwood is her home, her life. Most don't realize that nothing has escaped her ears in the decade that she's worked there. The visions of millions of dead bodies lying in the streets of London, piled high, have haunted Rose for weeks. There isn't a spot on the roads where there aren't bodies. Bodies crash into each other on the surface of the Thames. She has watched as wormhole gates that line the rooftops spew forth Septilian forces to gun down more bodies. Quintarian forms fall lifelessly from the sky as the troops push their dead remains from their crafts. She has heard every cry, seen and smelt the mess to come. And she has spent time exploring both reports in lucid dreams. She has chosen the lesser evil. She is sure of that.

Now that NIFAL will be on hiatus for some time, she's going to have to start laying people off. She thinks she'll start with McHolly. After all, Sleven had an opinion about her father's stance on policy. McHolly downright attacked her ability to do a job that she has been groomed for, for almost a decade.

She just hopes she's making the right decision.

  
~***~

* * *

Martha is a light sleeper, and ordinarily does not need a lot of it either. However, she can also admit she's not used to contemplative aliens waking her at, what she is sure to be, four in the morning. She senses his presence beside her, like a weight against her mind, pressing gently and nudging her awake. When she peers through one eye, she observes him sitting there beside her bed, staring off into the distance, with his feet upon her end table.

"That's the matter with your species," he assures her, "Some of your greatest downfalls have been due to someone's lack of _—_ or need for rest."

"Yeah, but it's also one of our greatest resources. After all, dreams are where anyone can be creative." She yawns, rubbing her eyes and beginning to prop herself up on her elbows.

"That's what you think, but I once knew a fellow who had not one iota of creative nature in his entire being. When he dreamed, he dreamed of watching himself sleep. It was a tragedy, really."

"Why are we talking about dreams. Are you dreaming again _—_ "

"Can you imagine? Dreaming of being asleep? Although there are some life forms that all they dream of doing is work. Work a job, work to survive, even their subconscious side thinks of these dreary jobs."

She waits because eventually, he will get there. She's sure of it; he just needs to work his way to it. She knows two things about him so far.

1) Never presume anything with or about him.

2) He likes to stick things in his mouth.

She has learned not to ask him what he wants because he seems to hate giving anything to people who ask it of him. He has come to her because he needs to think aloud; he needs her to throw random little comments into the clogs of his clock that at first jar his thinking. But he's a fascinating creature, and the one thing she notices that sets him apart from most humans is when she does send those little wrenches his way, it isn't a detriment to the process, but instead helpful. If she waits long enough, he usually gets to the point faster.

Usually.

"I don't know what's worse, those poor buggars who dream of mundane things, or the ones who dream of amazing and magical places, and that's the only time they experience it. Then they feel the need to let everyone know, just to prove they aren't mundane pathetic wretches. The day I say the words 'I had the strangest dream, let me tell you about it,' is the day I park the TARDIS and retire."

"Why are you here?" She asks bluntly. She's too tired this morning for this.

He sighs a heavy sigh before he starts. "I had the strangest dream, let me tell you about it," before going on to explain the little details of his vision about the child and the white wolf. He tells her of Biscuit and how it all connects back to Rose before briefly touching on how the dream shifted to the night they spent on the Ferris wheel. He leaves out the details where they explored their affection in ways he had never considered before she was lost to Pete's world. Instead, he tells Martha how Rose is confronting him more often. Calling out their mistakes.

"I don't comprehend it _—_ it doesn't make any sense! If it _was_ a future Rose, what is she doing in this universe? Because then, my dear Martha, we have a serious problem because this universe and that universe had a quarrel quite some time ago and can't play nice. If a tear or hole ever existed between them once again, they would implode into themselves and the void before you could say 'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.'"

"Don't say that." Martha groans.

"What? Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?" He asks her, to which she nods her head.

"Do tell." he inquires, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I couldn't say it."

"Couldn't because you were forbidden to say it on pain of death? Now THAT is a tragedy. Forget about my good friend who dreams of himself asleep or the pathetic wretch who is always dying to tell you about their strangest dream. It's a sad day when I meet a human who cannot say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. What? You never practiced? Never saw it? What's the problem then?" He asks her, removing his feet from her end table and sitting up properly, his spectacles going ajar.

"I didn't realize it was a prerequisite to boarding the TARDIS."

"Well, I think it should be, but only after I remedy the problem."

"I can't pronounce it. I used to have this stammer, and my mom tried to correct it by forcing me to practice... saying..."

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” he offers.

"Right, and every time I messed it up, I had to start again. So stop, please."

"We will just have to watch Mary Poppins until your eyes bleed and all you can do is sing about every situation that you are faced with in a delightful and somewhat educational song." He tells her very seriously while removing his spectacles from his face to clean them.

"Sounds like a solid plan." She smiles.

"A plan is just a tiny prayer to father time." He murmurs, placing them back on his nose.

"That's from a song, can't remember what song, but know I've heard it."

"Yes, well, they messed up the time bit, time has no sex, but if it did, it would be female."

"Makes sense we are superior at keeping it, scheduling it, killing it _—_ "

"Also, time has a dark sense of humour, like most women I've met." 

"You know, for an alien, you really know a lot about earth pop-culture." She decides.

"I know a lot about a lot of things. I have never once claimed it was always relevant." He returns, rubbing his eyes under the spectacles on his face.

"Another word, then?"

"Another word, what?"

"Another word that I could say before the entire universe implodes?"

"Well, how about Bob then, before you could say 'Bob's your uncle.' I also wanted to know someone with an uncle named Bob." He finishes, placing his finger under his chin, deep in thought.

"Does she have to be from her alternate universe?" Martha asks him.

"What do you mean?" he asks her.

"What I mean is, you're the one who is always saying there is more than one alternate universe out there. There is a reaction for every action, and that is no different for time and space. For every option of a decision, there is an alternate universe. So there has to be, like a million different universes just for Rose alone. I can only imagine how many universes there are out there just from you. Then, if you add the universes created by every other human into the picture, and that's just for Earth alone… my god, the possibilities."

"Look at you, little miss physicist, deducting and hypothesizing and makin' theories. Really, it's quite brilliant, although it's a little simpler than that. You have to have some knowledge of someone or something for it to be altered and created in a new universe, so Rose would only exist in universes where she has touched people."

"Well, you certainly broadened that scope by taking her travelling now, didn't you?" Martha tells him.

He sits there in silence, his fingers templed in front of pursed lips, his specs hiding his gaze in the dark.

"Look, all I'm saying is, I get that Rose's new universe, and this one can no longer exist with tears between them. But what about the billions upon billions of other universes?" She asks him.

He looks at her and blinks.

His mouth agape ever so slightly, he blinks again. He realizes this seems all too familiar, so he closes his mouth before he drools all over his jacket.

"Martha, how did you become such a bloody genius?" he says, getting up from his chair and jumping onto her bed. He grabs her and hugs her intensely while kneeling before pulling back.

"Just born that way, I guess. Or maybe it was the years upon years of schooling, research, and medical training… Wait, what are you thinking?" She questions suspiciously.

"Nothing, just that Rose may be trying to reach me by precariously ripping holes through the fabric of time." He says, getting up from her bed and stands above her. Soon he will leave her to finish her sleep so he may do some testing; after all, he's on a mission now.

"That doesn't sound like Rose at all," Martha states, and he turns to look at her with curious eyes. "From what you've said about her, I can't see her consciously endangering several universes to try and find a backdoor into this one, regardless of her feelings for you." She explains.

"Did I ever say consciously?" he asks her, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh…" She starts and then furrows her brow. "Is that even possible, though?"

"I don't know really," He says, putting his hands in his pockets. "I've never heard of it, but that's a good thing! The day I know everything? Might as well stop. Whoa, a spot of déjà vu right there." He says, scratching his head. "Still, I think we should keep our eyes open for any signs of her or anything out of the ordinary."

She nods, and he turns to head for her door. Before she realizes she's doing it, she reaches for his hand.

"Are you alright?" She asks him, her fingers around his wrist.

"′ Course! Why wouldn't I be?" he says too cheerfully, but the smile barely meets his eyes.

"Because even with nine hundred years of experience, you're still a terrible liar." She croaks, letting the tiredness wash over her as she flops back into bed.

Lamenting, he sits down beside her on the bed, his hands positioned on either side. He's staring at the floor, and it's moments like this that she forgets he's an alien.

"I've fought onslaughts of Cybermen, regenerated twice in less than two years, been almost destroyed by Daleks more times than I can count, caused death, life and revolution in more than a thousand different galaxies, and committed genocide against my own race." He breathes out slowly.

"But the one thing, the one thing I can't seem to move past, is a shop-girl I picked up from London a little more than three years ago."

She puts her hand on his shoulder as a sign of support. "Give it time. I'm sure when you're ready, it'll happen. After all, you still have trouble accepting some of the other things."

"Will I?" he asks, looking over his shoulder at her. "Because in a lot of ways, I have gotten over the rest. It happened, I've grieved, time goes marching on, every man for himself and anything else you may want to add to that. But with Rose," he says, pivoting his head back to the floor again, "With her, I don't know. I don't know if I'll ever get over it because maybe I don't want to. Maybe, I'm choosing not to." He finishes as she sits up; they are now sitting shoulder to shoulder.

"What really gets me is in every situation I'm in, I always end up in control, I always know what the score is, the outcome of the game." He confesses.

"The ultimate closet control freak,"

"No _—_ " He whinges.

"Yes." She mocks him while lying back.

Sighing, he lies down beside her. "I'm completely baffled—usually this stage only last hours for me, a few days at most. The guilt I do, and I do well, but I left her with her mother, her father, and the epitome of what most humans desire. So no guilt there, but grief? I find my grief..." Martha hears his voice trail off. She begins to wait for him to continue, but she's confident that the longer the moment stretches, the less likely he has the words to proceed.

"I don't get it. What bothers you more, the fact you can't figure this one out, or the fact that she has figured it out before you?"

He remains silent.

"I guess the question remains to be, is she worth all the monsters?"

"Yes," He whispers in a tone she's never heard from him before. It reminds her of a scared little boy, and before she can close her mind off, she has a random amount of sporadic images flood her mind.

Rose reaching out as she fades into a white light, another one of the blonde licking her teeth, a wolf licking its teeth. 

Martha sees men she doesn't know but knows are him, and a lonely boy sitting by himself in a dark corner is the last image before it all goes. It's not that she's kicked it out or that he's pulled it away from her; it's that she loses it, like grasping for butterflies. 

The visions usually only last ten to fifteen seconds, and she's so used to blocking them now that she doesn't think he's aware that he's projecting. That when he's emotional that his psychic abilities can spill into her without her permission. She will have to tell him about it sooner or later before it becomes a real problem. But she can't bring herself to do so right now. After all, Martha realizes he probably wouldn't tell her as much as he does if she didn't have these moments of insider information. Ever since she helped him save River on Babble. Ever since she had been force-fed the fruit of the Panne cult, it hasn't just been him. It was River first who noticed.

_"See you later, sweetie— and thanks again." River oozed at the Doctor. Martha watched his eyes narrow and his shoulder shudder before viciously turning his body around 180 degrees and stomping into the TARDIS._

_"You have three minutes Martha!" He boomed at her._

_She watched the mirth overflow from the woman in front of her; River Song, the one who claimed to be his wife. But as she observed her, she felt a wash of sadness overflow into her—River sitting with an older man, toasting to each other in a fancy restaurant. The next time will be the last. She feels River's voice pulse through her._

_The older woman's smile fades. "You ate the seeds, didn't you."_

_Martha shrugs helplessly, "You can rest assure I had no choice in the matter."_

_"Choice or not, it will be hard. You should tell him. Sooner— always sooner rather than later. You always think you have all the time in the world with a Time Lord." River softly sighs. Martha wants to believe that River will be okay, but she can sense River's fear._

"You're scared," She breathes because it doesn't take slightly psychic abilities to read it on his face. It's etched into every feature, resides within every tense muscle throughout his body.

He doesn't answer, and maybe it's just as well. Instead, he lays his head on her chest, and she wraps her fingers into his soft hair. She notes he must have had a shower before coming to see her. He is afraid, but of what she's not too sure. Maybe it's that his Rose has changed; perhaps he's worried that he's changed. Perhaps he's scared that she is, just that powerful to reach across several universes in her sleep. Maybe it's that she may be in trouble.

Martha doesn't know, but then again, what she doesn't know could fill an ocean. What she does know is that he's afraid of it all.

She knows she is afraid as well.

Afraid that her days as his companion are coming to an end.

~***~

* * *

For Rose Tyler, there were indeed 321 million universes (give or take a few) in which she existed. For the Doctor, the number was so large it wasn't pronounceable in many tongues. So, when Rose spent 6 months as a patient of the Torchwood Institute instead of an employee, she worked hard with little time for anything else. Time herself needed him back, the Wolf hungered for her mate, and Rose simply missed him with all of her heart. All three loved him unconditionally, so all three aspects of being worked together towards one purpose.

To get him back.

After all, 7.3 is the key.

That was the simple part of figuring it out. Time knew everything about herself, so she just freely gave that knowledge to Rose and the Wolf. It was the last problem that all three were struggling with; they had to find the means to the end. The wolf helped, thereby doing the only thing she knew how to do other than feed.

She hunted.

It just so happened that Wayne Ross of Alpha Delta Seven had over 600 million universes accumulated in his long life and had once heard of Gallifrey passing in a little café outside Alta Delpha Three. It was in one of his universes that Rose found Gallifrey.

It was there she sent her a call.

  
~***~

* * *

_He is standing at the bathroom sink, just out of the shower, shaving in front of the mirror when a blonde head appears from nowhere behind his left shoulder. He smiles slightly, making eye contact with the still sleepy head peeking at him. She has a mischievous glint in her eye, or maybe it's just the lighting and how it hits the reflective surface._

_"Good morning, darling." He says, running the blade under the water flowing from the tap._

_"Good mornin'." She mumbles into the flesh of his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt, which she is wearing, scraping his back as she presses herself against him. She rests her hands just about the top of his towel, her fingers lingering there as he looks up and gives her a mischievous grin, then continues with his task._

_"I never knew you shaved." She creaks out, her voice still not warmed up yet._

_"Mmm… More in this regeneration than the others."_

_"Why didn't you wake me?" she asks him, her voice slightly hurt and high-pitched._

_"You can't be serious, me… wake you?" he asks incredulously, focusing on the last strip of shaving cream left to shave._

_She makes her move. She swiftly opens her impish mouth resting against his shoulder and bites down hard, her sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. It's enough of a shock for his hand to slip and to cause the tiniest of nicks right at the end. While he's still stunned, she rips the towel from his body. Then she's just a blur of his shirt, skin and gold hair._

_"Rose!" He cries out in frustration, and before he can pop his head around the corner of the door, she's laughing manically from somewhere down the hall._

When he wakes up, he realizes he's fallen asleep beside Martha and gently lifts himself from her bed. When he feels a slight bruise on his left shoulder, he smiles softly, making his way to the control room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been leaving kudos and comments.


	9. Time Here

Pete sits across from her as they share lunch and files in an office that used to be his.

"Your mother and I want you to come over for dinner on Sunday," he pops a chip into his mouth and winces at its soggy taste. Rose watches as he drives the thing down his throat and, truthfully, is grateful that she decided against them today. 

"Can't," she says, glancing away, "I have plans."

"Oh, Mickey and Jake will be there too, didn't they tell you?" Pete responds, not looking up from the papers in front of him.

"My plans are not _with_ Mickey or Jake, as a matter of fact." Rose cautiously looks at him from above the paper in front of her, mindful not to make eye contact.

"Seriously?" he asks her astonished, finally looking up from his papers.

"Yes," she replies, not letting his intense incredulous stare draw her away from her sheets, but it does not stop the burn in her cheeks.

"Do you want me to tell Jackie?"

Rose speculates about the conversation he'll have with her mother and how he'll be reamed out for not sucking every last piece of information out of her. She looks up at the dumbstruck face of her father and grins. He smiles back.

"No, that's okay, I'll tell her." She offers and looks back down at her records.

"Rose?" and there is emotion in his voice, Pete has something he wants to say to her, and she can hear it linger in the air between them.

"Yeah?" 

Their eyes lock, and he gets apprehensive before looking down at his documents.

"Nothin'." He states, clearing his throat, and they continue as though the discussion never took place.

It relieves her that he drops it. Rose's plans are not really as charming as Pete may have thought. Instead, she will be having dinner with a man, a man who knows a thing or two about alternate dimensions and travelling through them. Just like this universe never had a Rose, it never had a Doctor. That much she was sure of, having access to all those files in Torchwood, may have helped too. 

However, just like Rose, both had been deposited here on this rock, without a way out.

~***~

* * *

Martha and the Doctor are walking together down a narrow street currently turned into a marketplace, looking for trinkets and doodads, when she asks him.

"Have you noticed things have been going relatively well as of late?" 

"I thought it was because I was becoming more perspicuous." He says, his red Chucks kicking up the dusty road. The place reminds her of pictures of the 19th century, early 20th-century Earth.

"Five dollar words," she snorts at him, watching women in various clothing walk by. The fashions here resemble something from the 1930s, and the only reason she knows as much is that she loves to read.

"Easy to understand, clear and decisive!" the Doctor tells her, squinting at her through the haze of the sunlight and dust.

She laughs at him and shakes her head, "No, that's not quite what I was looking for." 

"More precarious?" he offers.

"Now you're just using random words, thinking I won't know what you're talking about. You can't think you're perspicuous, then think you're precarious. They are two opposing notions."

"I'm just keeping you on your toes Martha, you are a medical student, and everyone knows the first rule of being a doctor is sounding better than everyone else." He quips, and she just shakes her head at him.

"This is a fun game! Let's keep going! Is it because I tend to be quixotic? Perspicacious, which is different from perspicuous all together!"

She's stopped paying him any notice because she can feel a strong sense of melancholy. People look like they are ill and exhausted, and she rarely sees a smile on anyone's face except for the affluent who walk down the street in fashionable clothing. 

"…less intrusive?" 

"Perhaps," she responds, seeing a cloaked woman with a little mask covering her face strolls past her. Martha is sure she knows her eyes from somewhere but shakes it off as her psychic energy accidentally touching people.

"By the by," she urges, after a comfortable amount of silence, "Do you have any clue where we are?" 

"I can't believe- are you? No trust… you really are asking…"

"So, no, then?" she replies rhetorically. She watches the woman duck into a building a few blocks away. 

"I think it's more a question of _when_ we are because I don't remember ANY of this." He informs her as they halt their steps. He turns to look back at where they have walked, then to where they are going. He pulls his specs out of his long brown trench pocket, and they're covered in thick brown grime. Sighing, he pulls his red tie out and debates wiping them off before he shakes his head and places the glasses back in his pocket and then his tie back in his suit.

"At least with my last suit, you rarely noticed how dirty it got." He mumbles grumpily before starting to walk again down the street.

"Remember as in, you have been here before?" she questions, catching up and placing her arm through his. The wind is definitely starting to pick up, and she can barely see through the clouds of grime. 

"I don't know." He responds as they round the corner of the street.

"You are _SO_ helpful today." She tells him, frustrated.

But he doesn't hear any more; she draws away to watch his face and recognizes it as tight and drawn. He is angry at what he sees, so she looks in the direction he is looking to understand what is upsetting him.

"What now?" 

"What do you see?" he asks her through a clenched jaw.

It's a dead-end alleyway. She squints firmly against the dust and tries again. There are two garbage bins to the left-hand side, and steps lead to a door about a story up on the right-hand side. The wall that causes it to be a dead-end is a large wooden fence that fences off a large (most likely) building of flats. She can see the sun setting behind the building and a cat sitting on the top of the wooden fence.

"Nothing, I see an empty alley." 

"Precisely," he declares, sticking his hands in the pockets of his billowing coat. 

"Martha, things are no longer going relatively well."

~***~

* * *

They sit there, waiting for their meals, and it's challenging for Rose not to stare. The man in front of her looks like _neither_ of them. No haunted eyes (though they are still that beautiful blue she remembers). No daft ears, no stylish hair and a mole between his shoulder blades (as far as she knows). Both the leather jacket and the brown trench had been replaced by a green smoking jacket. 

"Thank you for meeting me here. I know it was quite a trip for you." Rose begins nodding to the waiter, who brings her a Tom Collins. He is the one who is gawking now, and she realizes as she takes the first sip, she has forgotten what it feels like to be under his observant gaze.

"I couldn't resist. A companion from a different alternate universe trapped here as well? Not only did you know things that would definitely lure me here, but your working for Torchwood also sealed the proverbial deal." 

"You know of Torchwood?" Rose remarks, surprised. Sure, she knew it would eventually come up talking to him, but she thought her identity had been more secretive than that. After all, he did come all the way from San Francisco; she didn't realize that he had access to that knowledge.

"Miss Tyler, Rose… I may not have my TARDIS anymore, but I still keep up with alien gossip, if you will. I have a few friends back in America who were relocated and given new identities by Torchwood's NIFAL program. Once your father's diplomatic missions opened up international borders." He explains to her, sipping water from his glass placed in front of him.

"How much do you know about Torchwood?" She says, lifting a brow seriously at him. She wants to already trust him, but she keeps reminding herself this isn't him and that things could go wrong at any time.

"Simply put, I know that you _are_ Torchwood." 

"Enough then," She answers, clearing her throat and sampling her drink once again. They sit there in silence, and she's relatively comfortable being in the presence of this known stranger. His mannerisms are slightly different, and he is more proper than either of the two she knew before him. And yet, it doesn't matter if he's a previous regeneration or a latter one (not that she has the courage to ask); it only takes a few minutes to get back into the habit of _him_.

"So if you're still the know-it-all, I remember, do you know why I asked you here?" She asks him as the food arrives in front of them. She picks up her utensils and begins to cut her steak into smaller pieces. There is silence in response to her inquiry, and she slowly smiles. At least he isn't as rude in this regeneration.

"The reason why I asked you here is my Doctor didn't tell me a lot about the Time War: When it happened, what had really happened, what Gallifrey was like, what makes up your genetics." She places the fork in her mouth.

"So you what you are trying to tell me is that you are looking for an education on Time Lords," he states, somewhat cautiously, and she can tell he doesn't like the idea too much. She isn't sure; she doesn't know what he's gone through, what he's willing to give up.

"More than— once I became aware of your existence here, I knew that I desire you as an ally. I want to— need to understand. I watched too many people think they knew better than him, and it always results in more causalities than necessary. He may have been an arrogant bastard, but he always knew what he was doing." She watches as his face changes slightly, wincing and scrutinizing her at the same time. "As director of Torchwood, you can imagine that being accountable for the entirety of intergalactic relationships regarding Earth has its downfalls. My life's work is to make sure that this Earth is prepared for anything or everything when it comes to aliens. If he— you… can't deal with every threat that comes our way, then I want to be prepared for that. I've seen Cybermen, Sycorax, Gelth, Reapers… I've been invited to have a cuppa with the Emperor Dalek. I figure, if I have to live on this planet, I may as well do the best I can protectin' it." She finishes, sipping the last of her drink nervously. She chastises herself for feeling so insecure, but it's been a while since she felt the need to explain herself to anyone.

"Then, I shall help you," he tells her, resting his hand on top of hers. She stares at the union, and she bathes in the warmth of it. It's comforting, and if she closes her eyes, she's sure she'd be able to forget and pretend he was hers.

"My wife, however, will not approve," he tells her, to which her head shoots up.

~***~

* * *

Two hours later, Martha sits at the bar in a smoky lounge waiting for the Doctor. He had gone off to discover who confiscated the TARDIS for illegal parking (though she's sure he's just misplaced it and is making a big scene). Bored, she drums her fingers against the bar when the bartender comes by to see what she'd like to drink. Martha asks for anything that won't get her drunk (learning from her mistake once by asking for no alcohol), and the bartender nods. She swivels on her chair, so she faces the stage, occupied by a small piano being played. The pianist finishes his song, and the audience claps. 

"Hereabouts miss," the bartender says, placing a glass full of bluish goop in front of Martha. She nods in thanks before slowly takes a sip to find it somewhat sugary and chalk tasting. Repulsed, she puts the drink down and forces herself not to grimace.

She sees the pianist take a cigarette drag, which is being held by an ashtray on the top of the piano, before he says, "Immediately, we beget a real gift for you tonight, a real gift. Appearing out of retirement and for one night only…"

"That's what she continually says…" a random customer calls out. Some people laugh, some don't, the pianist chuckles slightly, and Martha can tell that some of these people are real regulars.

"For one evening only, for now, the pleasantest flower that ever endured… Earth's pride and joy, Rose…"

And like that, there she was, and Martha doesn't know whether to be disturbed or fascinated. Rose walks out from behind dusty red curtains dressed in a floor-length gown the colour of a dying star. Martha would think that it would be filthy with how much dust there was everywhere, but it gleamed like she took care to clean it after every use. The piano starts softly, and she is framed in a halo of golden light, her dress clinging to her curves. Slowly she lifts her gloved hand to push a brunette strand of hair behind her ear, barely touching her shoulders. She never introduces the song but dives right into the words, painting a picture for Martha and feels tears spring to her eyes at the emotion conveyed in the music, how Rose sounded at a complete loss within the words. 

"Ain't she some kind of unusual?" The bartender says.

"She's quite talented. I had no idea." Martha murmurs as she watches Rose slightly tilt her head in a bow to the clapping in the audience. 

"Well, a portion of it is a gift, portion of it is the unprocessed predilection, it's hard to find sirens these days with such an emotional investment in their sentiment or craft. She forever says it's her last show, and yet she always comes back. Then, starvin' will do that to you." 

Martha nods slowly and watches as Rose descends from the stage via the stairs and, it's when Rose begins to walk right towards her that she freezes up.

"Can I have some water, Francis?" Rose asks, her pale white gloves resting on the bar. Martha stares as best she can out of the corner of her eye. She so badly wants to turn and strike up a conversation, but she is concerned that she will only make things worse. It is then that fate steps in, in the form of a customer and bumps into Rose while taking a sip of her water, causing her to spill it everywhere.

"Bollocks," Rose sighs, dripping in water. Martha instinctively picks up a napkin and begins to pat her down before she freezes, realizing what she is doing.

"Thanks, though now I'm going to look as though I've wet myself." Rose lightly chuckles, peeling the soaked gloves off her arms.

"Aw, well, it could be worse. You are lucky water doesn't stain." Martha tells her, then frowns and adds, "although these are silk? Nevermind."

Rose smiles, "Do you know how hard it is to find real silk on an outer planet?" before adding, "they cost me almost two months pay."

"Colonizing planet," Martha murmurs, assured.

"Just dust and booze here," Rose responds, tucking a lock back behind her head once more. Both women smile at each other nervously.

"Thank you," Rose says to her, even her speaking voice is melancholy.

 _You must miss him so much,_ Martha thinks, watching her face.

Rose's eyes widen, and she is obviously surprised by Martha's slip up. 

"Pardon me?" Rose asks. 

Martha is **sure** she did not say that out loud, and she can't project thoughts onto non-telepaths, but she isn't sure that Rose noticed or knows either way, so she begins to backtrack.

"I'm sorry, I just— you look like you miss someone. Your singing."

To which Rose continues to look at her suspiciously.

"I didn't mean to intrude. I just know what it's like, to miss someone; I apologize." Martha offers once last time.

Rose's narrowed eyes soften, and she searches Martha's eyes before finally accepting this excuse. Martha exhales and takes a large sip of her syrup-like concoction.

"He's away, but he promised he'd come back for me." 

"Aren't you in for a surprise." 

_"Excuse me?"_

"I said, that would be a romantic surprise," Martha replies, her eyes bright and bulging as she turns back to the confused woman seated beside her. Martha lifts her drink to toast Rose, who eyes her skeptically as she clinks her water to Martha's glass and then takes a sip. 

"Well, the show's not over," Rose tells Martha before grabbing her gloves. She nods her head at her before rising to the stage and nodding to her accompanist. 

Martha listens to how every note drips with emotion. She can hear her pain and honour, her pride and desperation.

It's halfway through that Martha can feel his presence. He always does that to her; it's like just a little extra weight on her mind. When he's around, she doesn't really notice it, and it seems like it's only when they've been apart for a while, upon his return, she can feel its pressure. She turns to him, and he is staring at the stage. She reads his carefully guarded pain, and she knows he is hiding behind the fortress. He keeps his emotions at bay.

Slowly she tiptoes towards him; he never turns to look at her and watches as his jaw clenches underneath his skin. She knows the song is for him, maybe not _him_ in particular, but it's obvious now that this Rose is in love with a Doctor.

The song is over, and Martha clears her throat just if he is too enthralled by the music to notice her presence. He doesn't turn to her, which she is sure means that he knew all along that she was right there beside him.

"Why don't you go say hi?" she asks him quietly.

"Because," he says, "That is not my Rose." 


	10. Bob's Your Uncle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are... going to start getting a bit dark from here. 
> 
> I've added more tags as it occurred to me that some of it may be too dark for some. Character deaths are apart of this story but I wouldn't name them as major, and there are torture memories in following chapters. I just wanted to warn anyone following so that they can opt out if that's not your jam, so to speak.

"How can you be so sure?" Martha asks as he watches the brunette on stage bow slightly before smiling at the crowd. He locks eyes with Rose for the briefest of moments, and again she shows no sign of recognition, no shock that he's here.

"Her scent," he answers, then briefly looks down and smiles slightly at Martha. "She doesn't smell like her." Martha stares at him, and he feels so _other_ to her under her gaze.

"Right, well, I don't talk about it often, but um... I can smell certain emotions?"

"Pheromones?"

"Similarly, yes! And pheromones usually have to do with strong emotions, fear, desire, anger, sorrow, no matter what the species. No one really wants to hear about, when they... _smell_ certain ways, even in sniffing society." He turns as he tells her this, realizing he cannot stay here. "Let's get a wiggle on," he tells Martha.

Just Rose's face, that sadness in her eyes, is beginning to beckon to him. He's sure if he really wanted, he could forget all about the craziness of this situation. The only logical explanation is that he has, once again, travelled to an alternate universe. This Rose does not smell like cinnamon and gravy, but she does smell similar to his Rose and is currently giving him what he's sure was what Martha would call an anxiety attack. Before he gets too far away, Martha's grip on his arm tightens.

"ROSE!" He hears Martha call behind him, only a foot away.

"Let go," he tells her ruthlessly, looking back at the arm holding him, and she is regarding him like he's such an odd being. Sometimes he thinks he's more human than she is.

It's too late. The damage has been done, he realizes, as Rose sees them and begins to walk over to where they are standing.

"My mate—"

"—FRIEND."

"FRIEND, and I wanted to tell you how amazing you were." Martha barely skips a beat while taking Rose's palms in her own. Rose smiles coyly at the bizarre pair in front of her before offering a hand to the Doctor.

"Rose Tyler," she says, her hand hanging there, and he can feel Rose's disappointment over the fact he doesn't take it as he just stares intensely at her. He can also sense the weight of Martha's gaze at what a git he's being. She's slimmed out or was always this slim, but the silk gown suits her sultry lounge singer look. Mind the fact they were on colonizing planets, and he's aware there's a famine happening right now. This Rose appears more fragile than any Rose he's met so far, and he finds himself angry with Martha for making him an accessory to this confrontation.

"So Rose," he hears Martha say to the left of him. "You were tellin' me earlier this is a colonizing planet. Where are you originally from?"

"Well, Earth technically, but it's been so long… I've been all over."

"By yourself?" He hears himself inquire.

"No," she answers, slightly annoyed and startled and his bluntness, "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, you know… young woman like yourself, hard to come to a colonizing planet alone." He mutters, glancing away, loathing himself for acting so oddly.

"Yeah, well, some things aren't planned."

He can feel how awkward Martha feels and knows she is having trouble blocking Rose and his own psychic energy. Especially since he's having trouble containing it.

 _Good,_ he thinks, _if you can hear me, Martha Jones, you deserve all the ickys you are currently feeling for forcing my hand in this nonsensical situation._

 ** _I can't let him leave her here…_** He hears and knows he's in for more torture if he's going to allow this go on any further.

"Come and have a drink with us Rose," Martha offers.

"Nah, that's okay, thanks anyway, but I should be gettin' home before curfew," Rose tells them, glancing at the clock behind them on the wall.

"Right! Curfew! How could we forget! Well, lovely speaking with you, Rose, come along Martha," and he's off. Martha gives Rose a helpless look, and he can hear her apologize quickly before catching up with him.

"What was that?" she whispers at him furiously when she makes her way out the door, right on his tail. It's the door to the back alleyway they were staring at earlier, and this is the building with the little deck and stairs leading down into the dead-end street. Below, the TARDIS is parked. It's windy again, and his long brown trench is flowing with the gusts.

"I'm almost inclined to ask you the same question," He spits out, spinning on his heel to look at her with his deadliest of gazes. "For a medical practitioner, you sure don't make healthy choices." And with that, he is flying down the steps two at a time towards the TARDIS parked below.

"Oh, threats now, is it? Well, I find it rather _convenient_ that you are so desperate to know what's happening to us," she shouts and chases after him, "and then all of a sudden, you run in the opposite direction when something happens that could be more thoroughly investigated."

"I refuse to _investigate_ HER!" He bellows in rage. He makes it to the TARDIS door and rests his forehead against it as he fumbles for the key.

"Why, because you could find out something you're not ready to know? Doctor? Are you even listening to me?" She asks, chasing after him, " _DOCTOR_!"

"Doctor?" a singular and familiar voice cries out.

He turns to see a Rose, with a shocked and disbelieving look on her face, at the top of the stairs they had just descended down. She is wearing a black cloak as she sleekly slides down the staircase towards him, outraged on her face, causing him to double back against the door of the blue box. She is suddenly right in front of him, her eyes searching his. Finally, he sees the light of something dawning on her.

Before he realizes what's going on, lips are hungrily set upon his. Rose's desire and anger envelop him like a starving animal as he stands arrested against Rose's onslaught. Visions flow from both of them, flooding his mind with memories or fantasies involving her mouth and hands, and things better left unsaid. Before he understands the consequences, he lets go of the universe around him, hurtling into oblivion. His hands are at the small of her back and in her hair, and he feels the wave of a moan escape her and swallows it into himself. It causes him to hold her just that extra bit closer, clings to her kiss and desire as though it were a tangible buoy in this sea of misery.

But even then, even at that moment, a thought or memory begins to stir, a knowledge that his brain as tucked away, for how long he doesn't remember, but he knows it's there. He tries to reach for it, but the door to its shining light is closed brutally on him, and he finds himself back to falling, falling deeper into the girl in his arms.

The moment doesn't last. Rose pushes herself away from him, staring into his dazed brown eyes. Examining them one more time before she pulls back and punches him in the face.

Hard.

"You bastard!" The vitriol rolling off her tongue, sincere contempt on her face as she storms off towards the alleyway's opening.

Holding his cheek, he sees Martha for the first time in the last couple of minutes.

Or was it seconds?

He's not too sure.

"Oh, hello. How long have you been there?" he asks her drunkenly. She is smirking at him, her arms crossed.

"I never left," amusement touching the edge of her voice before adding, "Hurt?"

"Mmm," He winces, "She hits like her mother."

~***~

* * *

"You must be Grace," Rose greets politely as she grasps the woman's hand. The Doctor has picked up the smaller woman's bags and is carrying one on each arm, a giddy smile on his face like a child who just got a present for being a good boy. She can feel their love, and it irritates her skin like a nasty rash.

"And you, Rose," Grace says with equal civility, although Rose is sure the woman resents her already. She explores her eyes, wanting to see if there's any contempt or anger there that confirms her dislike for the female whom she's just met. Unfortunately, she doesn't see anything, only making her feel more of a fool.

They are standing by the airport terminal, where Rose decided that she would come with him to pick her up, much to her dismay. He had asked, no, pleaded for her to do so if only to put her best foot forward. Little did he know that she had two left feet.

_"She's going to hate me," Rose tells him as the limo pulls into the parking lot._

_"No, she's not; Grace rarely hates anything except for me being called Doctor." He tells her._

_"Well, it's your name, isn't it?"_

_"Yes, no— well… you see, the thing is, is that when Grace came along with me, I always introduced her as a doctor as well, and well, that just ended up complicating things dependent on what we were doing. Eventually, it just ended up annoying her. When we got stranded on this planet not more than ten years back, before you were here, we decided we would try and live a normal life. That meant I couldn't just be 'Doctor' anymore. It took a long time, but we named me. I even have identification with the name on it, see?" He says, pulling a picture I.D. out of his wallet. "It's me!"_

_She looks at the name and remembers it from her files, although she never considered using it for him. William Bydysaw._

_"It's Welsh." He tells her. "and, they let me choose whatever I wanted."_

_She nods as they approach arrivals._

_"She's going to hate me," Rose tells him once more._

_"Only if you are rude."_

_"She's going to hate me."_

"The Doctor has told me a lot about you," Rose offers and isn't surprised to see her grimace at the use of his name. She lets it go; after all, she was supposed to know better, but she hasn't wrapped it around her head to call him by something as pedestrian as _William._ If he picks up on this, she can't tell because he's still grinning innocently, standing there waiting to be guided like a bodyguard through the airport with her two bags.

"I hear you're a doctor too, cardiology."

"Yes, she is. She's really quite amazing!" He tells Rose placing an arm around the red-head in front of her, and Rose feels young and small under the beautiful woman's gaze. She notices how happy and content he looks beside her, like an eager puppy glad that whose master has come home. Part of her is disgusted by the display, and the other part yearns for the same role in her Doctor's life, although she is sure that even if he did ever come back, it would never be the same again. Not after all this time, and certainly not like that. She finds herself smoothing her pencil skirt and tugging her blazer down so as not to stare at them before shaking off the feeling.

"Amazing Grace," Rose says, folding her hands for two reasons. One, so she can try to stop fidgeting around her, and two, so she doesn't fold her arms.

Grace shrugs and leans into his embrace, half chuckling as she puts an arm around the Doctor. "You're not the first to come up with that analogy," she says as she looks up into the taller man's eyes.

Rose's heart cracks just a little more, knowing that in some lifetime, he was capable of this kind of love, and before she can register it, a small surge of frustration pulsates through her at the apparent affection.

Turning on her heels, she begins to click away, power oozing in her stride, her business suit and shield of armour on the best of days.

"This way," She calls, "we should hurry if we want to beat traffic."

~***~

* * *

It takes a little psychic paper and a touch of acting on his part, but Martha and the Doctor are finally let into Rose's building by the manager.

"Do you want me to wait outside?" Martha asks guardedly as he points the sonic screwdriver at the door, and they hear the latch click back when he turns to look at her with the most hopeless look she's ever seen on his face.

_… Don't leave me, please…_

She nods and pushes the door open in front of him. As she walks in, she sees Rose staring out a window, away from them, her arms crossed in her lap, sitting on a sizeable antique divan.

"Rose?" He asks, meekly walking closer.

She doesn't turn to acknowledge their presence but instead starts speaking. "When he left, he told me it wouldn't be long at all.' I'll be back before you can say 'Bob's your uncle.'"

_"I always wanted an uncle named Bob." He tells Rose, smiling down at her with his charming smile while holding her shoulders._

_"Bob's your uncle," she replies hastily, to which he just smiles and kisses her nose._

_"Now I have to be gone for it to work," he whispers against her forehead, and she pulls him towards her by his suspenders, pressing a light kiss against his bow-tie. His hair falls loosely in front of his eyes as he peers down at her._

_"Why can't I come again?" she groans, moving into his embrace. He rests his chin against the top of her head. His right hand is tracing patterns on the small of her back, something he recognized a few years ago calms her when she is trying to suppress a panic attack._

_"Because darling, Gallifrey is forbidden to humans."_

_He doesn't like this rule any more than she does. She can tell just from his tone. He once told her about his rules._

_And about good men._

_"Will Romana be there?" she asks hesitantly._

_"Most likely, after all, last time I checked, she was still Lord President. Why do you ask?"_

_"I don't like her, she mocks me every time we see each other, and you know me not being there won't stop her from doing it behind my back." He has nothing to say to this, so she pulls him closer to breathe him in. "I just don't like that you are about to go discuss how to hunt down Earth, my home, without including one of the last earthlings."_

_"It could be worse. I could have left you with River." He tries, and she tenses in his arms. As she begins to pull away, he laughs nervously and holds her closer._

_"Rose, please relax. I promise everything will be fine. It's just a meeting. As soon as it's over, I will be right back, and we can find Earth together. Alright?" he pulls away to find lost eyes. She nods, and he pulls her close and kisses her gently, his hands in her hair, pushing it back out of her face. She smiles at him as he pulls away from her lips._

_"Your hair needs attention."_

_Rose's brown roots are no longer just showing through but beginning to take up a third of the length of her hair. There's no hint of disapproval in his voice. Rose surmises he's mentioning it because since they vanquished boundaries, what seems like ages ago, he'd been indulging her by getting the back of her head. At first, he told her it was so he didn't need to take her back so often only to have her mother help her with the task. Then after Jackie died, it just seemed easier to avoid Earth lately._

_"We'll do it when you get back," she tells him, and he smiles._

_"That's my girl," he says, kissing her nose briefly one last time, and claps her shoulders. He begins to walk away from her. She puts her hands in her pockets so she doesn't reach out for him and calls out when she realizes he isn't going to turn back one last time._

_"Hey," she watches as he turns to her, "Promise you'll throw a thinly veiled insult at her for me," and she licks her teeth, smiling brightly for him to remind him; this is the beacon; come home._

_He just shakes his head and turns back to his ship while she stands there in the middle of a dusty road, watching him. He doesn't turn back._

_As the TARDIS dematerializes, Rose turns around and slowly begins to walk down the street, half expecting it to rematerialize in front of her. Once she reaches the end of the road, she sighs and shakes her head smiling, half knowing all along that he wouldn't be back that fast._

_Still, part of her had believed him._

"It's a good thing I kept some Earth money on me, or I wouldn't have survived." Rose pointedly glares at him, provoking him to look away. He can't glance at her while listening to the story she just told him. Obviously, he wasn't the only one in all the universes out there that had a Rose, and he still doesn't know if he did the right thing by always keeping her an arm's length away.

"I know what's going on here," she states, after staring at him for some time.

"You do?"

"I do. That's the second time I've missed it. My first... you. Northern accent, all ears." she recalls dreamily. "He sent me away at satellite five, and I got the TARDIS to return for him. But it took time for him to return then too... and when he did, he wasn't the same." She took a breath, "It took a while, but we found our rhythm," she tells him somewhat happily.

"No, Rose, I'm not him…" he informs her, and Martha can see the pain cut deeper into him having to refuse her this. It happens again, the wisp of an idea or thought that he knows he should know but finds just outside his reach.

~***~

* * *

"Rose?" She hears her name called out, and she wants to answer, but she's too lost to respond back. Everything is a miasma around her; she feels her heart is in her throat, her eyes are burning at the sight. The smell of burnt plastic and what she knows to be flesh fill her pores. She secretly wishes that she could not identify the second scent. Her synesthesia is on overdrive. Colours are appearing in her vision.

"Shit, Rose honey…" Grace agitated voice is somewhere, and she can feel an arm cover her shoulders. They are approaching the scene where the dirigible had plummeted, and there are bits and pieces of it lying everywhere. She doesn't remember how they made it here or what she and Grace had been talking about when Jenna, her personal assistant, told her they needed her down on James Street. She doesn't know why she didn't see this coming, but she does know that she has to swallow back the taste at the back of her throat and see the destruction closer. The police and soldiers are trying to drive them back when she senses herself lift the billfold slowly, flashing her government badge. They back off and lift the yellow tape, and she's floating on a cloud towards more people.

"Oi! Get this woman behind the tape!" an officer calls out and grabs her by the arm.

"I'm Agent Rose Tyler of the Torchwood Institute," She hears her voice, almost disembodied— reflexively respond.

"That's nice, Agent Tyler, but this is completely out of your jurisdiction." The officer retorts, still grasping her arm tightly and trying to pull her towards the tape.

She can barely see flashes of red and yellow, but she feels the Wolf ground her, pulling her arm away from him. "Look again," she practically growls, and he humours her by looking at her badge one more time. Ultimately, it dawns on him, and he pales and bows his head in understanding.

"I'm sorry, Agent Tyler, but you really shouldn't be here. We haven't found all the pieces yet."

She's sure he means pieces of the dirigible, but in her mind's eye, the bodies are torn apart laying everywhere, and she feels the bile rise up into her mouth. Against her will, she finds herself vomiting right there on the side of the street.

"Bollocks," the officer says, rubbing her back in a soothing motion.

"I'm sorry," she replies between lurches. Finally, when there is nothing left in her, she stands, and the man offers her a tissue. She tries to let the Wolf guide her, to pull away to the quiet place in her soul. She can't bear to hear her mother's screams as Pete holds her tight before the sound of Metal and an explosion begins to activate her tinnitus. When it comes to all there ever was, it doesn't take much effort to detect what has already happened. It's preventing events that have always been the problem.

"Black box?" she once again hears herself ask.

"Not yet," he replies.

"Speculation of cause?"

"Bombing. Insurgents."

She looks around at the rubble lying around them, trying desperately not to think as she assesses the situation.

"Body count?"

He sighs and scratches his head, "President Tyler, First Lady Jacqueline Tyler, the pilot, a few agents."

"Mickey and Jake."

"There were no survivors Agent Tyler. We don't even know who else was on the vehicle at the time." He finishes.

She shakes her head, a single tear running down her cheek, but she's too numb to feel it. "Elle Tyler, what about her?"

"Negative, she was travelling with her nanny, Chantelle? by car. We stopped them outside of Blackpool." Rose nods, and one last time looks around at the scene when it hits her. At first, she doesn't quite grasp what she's witnessing; her brain and eyes aren't connected. A tingling sensation washes over her, and her neck feels all prickly and cold when she blinks.

It's a yellow heel.

The same yellow heel she helped her mother pick out three days ago on Bond Street.

Rose feels herself sinking to the ground as everything around her begins to go black. Before she can hit, though, strong arms wrap around her and support her weight.

"It's alright… she just needs room to breathe," She hears a familiar voice echo around her.

"She shouldn't be here. Someone needs to take her home," she hears the officer say, and her vision slowly begins to return to her. Black and white spots linger, but her hearing is starting to fade.

"Certainly sir, we will," she hears in the distance, and before she understands, William and Grace are holding her up, carrying her away under her shoulders.

"No, I can walk, put me down." She weakly tells him; her body is still feeling jelly; she's coherent enough to be embarrassed by the scene she is causing.

"Rose, please, let me help you," he whispers because her ear is so close to his face. The spots refuse to go away and only increase, and with her ears ringing, she rests her head on his shoulder. 

It's the last thing she can do before she welcomes the blackness that wants to swallow her whole.

  
~***~

* * *

"So, what you're saying is you are a Doctor, and there IS a thing called regeneration, but you are NOT my Doctor, cuz you're from a different universe. However, the reason you knew me is that you had a Rose as well, but you lost her to _another_ universe, and the reason you can't get her back is that you can't create an opening between the two universes anymore, or it would collapse. That you had no idea about my missing Earth, nor how to get it back. And that you have no idea how you're getting through to _other_ universes, but you think it might be your Rose who is causing it, subconsciously you reckon, as she appears as, and **_I quote,_** " she has a particular set of skills, and those skills are usually collectively called the Badwolf." Rose finishes.

"Um… yes, that's pretty much the story in a nutshell." He tells her, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He's spent the last hour explaining it to her, and he's sure he would have had more fun getting his teeth drilled.

"Oh," Rose says dejectedly. She stands from the divan and walks to the window she had been looking out of when they walked in, "and, I suppose if I hadn't interrupted your argument, you would have left by now."

He looks to Martha for aid, knowing _no matter what_ , he says that it will sound insincere. Besides, Martha owes him this. None of this would have happened if she hadn't forced him to speak with Rose.

Martha clears her throat before saying, "Only to avoid complication. We never wanted this kind of mix-up to happen."

"Really?" Rose asks bitterly, turning with her arms crossed to look Martha in the eye. "Because from what I remember, you were just dyin' for us to talk. 'Rose! My friend and I just loved your performance,' 'Rose, have a drink with us.' You seemed really concerned about my feelings."

Martha opens her mouth to object, then closes it. She nods her head in agreement, "noted."

She looks to the Doctor, and he looks away. He had wanted to go right away to avoid her altogether. She had thought it was because he tried to hide from the issues, not because of this predicament. She knows now she's made a terrible mistake, and it seems at the moment that neither he nor the Alternate Rose is prepared to forgive her. Sighing, she doesn't know what to do, but she feels it might be proper if she leaves them alone for a short while. Slowly, she gets up, making eye contact with the Doctor. She nods her head slightly towards the door, and his eyes light up a touch, and he nods curtly in understanding before getting up and following her out the front entrance.

"I'm going to go. I just wanted to tell you, so you don't worry or nothing."

He nods.

"Yeah, maybe we should."

"Didn't you hear me?" she asks him incredulously, "I said _I_ should leave. You need to stay here. Look, I know I screwed up. But my point still stands: you needed to know for sure that was her or not. And even still, I still think you need to talk to her. Seems like she has no idea about Badwolf? What does that mean about our Rose? Even if it doesn't give you any new information to help us out about what's going on, it might help… in other ways." She is unable to look in him the eye.

"Are you sure?" he asks her, and she knows he's asking more in the question than he cares to admit.

"Sure, yes, whatever." She says, smiling, placing her hand on the outside of his elbow. She needs him to know that she understands and that she doesn't feel an inkling of jealousy, so she sends him good energy in hopes he's open to it. His serious face lights up brilliantly, and he pulls her into a hug. She feels his forgiveness in her mind, wrapping around her guilt and healing it.

She squeezes her friend tighter before letting go.

After all, practice makes perfect.

~***~

* * *

"On this sad day, we ask: 'Why could the Tylers not remain with their family, with their daughter Elle and niece Rose?' It is a question we cannot answer, but we do what we can to offer our sympathy, prayers, and support at this time. I would also like to assure you that the Tylers' death is not Jesus' fault and that God is not to blame for it. But saying that does not mean that we cannot question the Lord. Indeed, we can tell the Lord that we have doubts about His goodness, that we wonder does He really care at all about us, that we feel so let down by Him…"

Elle is sitting in her lap, her feet dangled over her knees, as the priest continues on about the mercy of God and the evils of terrorists. She finds herself wishing she could trade positions and curl up in someone else's lap. Just as she thinks it, Grace clasps her hand, and she looks over at her friend beside her. Tears tumble freely down her face, her red hair pulled back elegantly. Rose finds irony in the fact that Grace can cry, and she hasn't a tear left to spare her mother, father, and best friends. She pulls Elle's body closer, feeling cold, but even the crying girl in her lap can't warm her.

_"Where will I go, Rose?"_

_"You'll come and live with me."_

She smiles at Grace reassuringly and lets go of her friend's hand to wrap it in her sister's hair. She hushes the crying child and rocks her back and forth, wiping the tears that fall down her chubby cheeks.

"And when Jesus saw Lazarus' tomb, how did he react? He wept. When we are in pain, is there a sense in which we can say that God is also in pain? Our tears are God's tears also. God does not abandon us in our time of suffering. God suffers with us."

Rose refrains from rolling her eyes, but she doesn't refrain from sneaking a peek at who has attended the service. Some of the most powerful politicians from around the world are in attendance to show their sympathies. Instead of inspiring her, it brought out the cynicism in Rose. She found their condolences heavy-handed and insincere. Maybe it was because no pity would ever bring back Mickey, her mum, or her newfound father.

"For the sake of all these who stand round me, so that they may believe that it was you who sent me."

She can't help but think of the Doctor when people talk of God in front of her. Not Grace's husband, William Bydysaw, but _her_ Doctor. The one who would have held her hand right now, the one who would have let her cry, no matter how strong she pretended she was. It was just one less thing in her life these days, the ability to be weak, and now, with Elle to look after, it too was a casualty in a long list of losses.

"He is here and cries with you. Turn to Him and ask His help. Ask Him to heal you of the great hurt you have suffered."

She just wishes that he'll recognize her when he sees her next.

~***~

* * *

He looks across the room, and she stands there in silk, rich and flowing, her hair barely touching her back, turned away from him, and he longs to reach out and touch the woman he knows does not belong to him. He knows he won't; he approaches her with a caution that would please even Rassilion himself.

"Rose," he says, his dulcet tones echoing in the all too quiet room, and all he can hear above his double heartbeat is the sniffling of the broken woman in front of him. He can smell her faint perfume and the agony hanging above her head like the eye of the storm. And still, he dare not disturb the emotion hanging around her.

"I never— he… I'm sure he'll be back." He finally finishes, and he wonders what he's still doing there, what he's supposed to say this version of her next, and how this conversation will end. Carefully he puts a hand on her shoulder, and she is cold under his touch, something he's not used to. He's always colder; it's just how it works. They stand there in silence, which he thinks is probably a good thing because if she asks anything of him, he may just give her the stars, and it occurs to him that if he is willing to provide a Rose **_that is not even his,_** the stars, he's fearful of what happens when he finds her, his Rose.

A star to say goodbye? Yes.

But not two universes. Perhaps one, but two he couldn't live with if he was unlucky enough to survive.

"He kissed me goodbye," Rose whispers. "But he never had the decency to say it, and although I know it in every fibre of my being, so much that my bones ache with the knowledge of it, he never once said 'I love you.'" 

His hand turns to ice over her, and he feels his legs lock to where he's standing. He so desperately wants to run away from this conversation, and somehow his body and brain are not willing to meet up and make an escape plan. So, he just stands there as she turns under his hand and looks up at him with wet eyes, dark and full of emotion, he feels his mouth tingle, and his throat goes sore from swallowing too hard. 

He tries to think of something witty, like, ' _What is with you ladies and those three words.'_ He works to think of something meaningful like ' _The words mean nothing, it's only actions that count._ ' But he can't. He doesn't dare to speak; he doesn't dare to lie to her, because at one time, he believed so strongly in that philosophy. Because ever since he saw a girl's face, so devastated on a beach, years away from now, and yet only moments ago, a girl's face that is an exact replica to the one in front of him, since then, he has been dying just tell her. And still, it would mean nothing to either of them, these two beings here at this moment. She doesn't love him, and he doesn't love her. They love the idea of each other, a memory they both carry deep within them that maybe one day will be a reality.

Sighing, he wraps his arms around her and rocks her back and forth, staring off into the distance as she weeps against him. He wishes the pressure of her body against his could have been his undoing, but it was not. She may look like Rose, smell somewhat like her, smile and sing, and cry just like his, but the fundamental truth was that she was not. She gave herself to another, and he wasn't going to deny them what he already lost.

He soothes her with a different kind of sweet nothing, things like "he will be back, that I promise you," and "things will be alright." But he still can't say those three little words that would mean so much to her, and not because he can't get them out.

He doesn't say them because they are not his words to tell.

~***~

* * *

Martha is sitting in the control room when he returns without Rose. She wants to ask what happened and where Rose is, but thinks better of it when he goes on his lively way, dialling co-ordinates and pulling levers.

"In a hurry, are we?" she says, scratching her elbow, and he looks at her seriously from over his specs. She worries he is angry at her when suddenly his face splits open in a lopsided, goofy grin calming her nerves. However, it doesn't last as she is thrown to the floor by what she can only describe as a shock wave.

The TARDIS jerks and groans as it shudders and flickers on and off, then on again.

"You alright?" he asks her, concern dripping from every word, as he crawls over to where she fell.

"Yeah, little sore around the edges. What was that?" Martha asks, rubbing the back of her head.

"I'm not quite sure, but it felt like a power surge, a very STRONG power surge. That or, well… I don't want to think about the other option because the only time the TARDIS has ever jerked and shuddered like that is when we were pulled through into an alternate universe." He tells her, getting up and holding out his hand to her. She accepts it, and both are on their feet in no time, trying to regain their balance. This is a bad sign, and Martha knows it—it means that the TARDIS is moving at top speed.

"What does it say?" she asks him eagerly as he reads a data screen.

"We are in a universe that's for sure, just can't tell which one. Still, says here we are heading for Earth, the year 2020." He says, with a sombre look on his face. He looks at her with that pout, and the green glow of the consol makes him look more alien now than she's ever really realized. She feels herself stabilize, signalling that they've landed. She wonders why they are in 2020. With the look the Doctor wears, she's guessing it's not because of any planning on his part.

Slowly, she watches as he moves to the door, opens it cautiously and steps out into a bright room. When she doesn't hear anything, she runs to the door to see if he's okay. 

He's standing there, those expressive eyes bulging out of his head, staring at a man she has never met before, and yet seems so familiar. She's sure she's seen that black hair and those blue eyes before. Men file into the room, surrounding both her and the Doctor now with guns drawn, but it doesn't seem to bother either man as they stare at each other, both with equal surprise.

"When the scanners picked up the craft, it listed all its qualities. I should have known it to be you." The other man says.

"Jack." The Doctor replies, and she is sure that his pain isn't quite over yet, just from the tone in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a bit of a rewrite from the original. In one of alternate!Rose's memories instead of a Eight/William, she is travelling with Eleven. It's not a huge plot point, but this accomplishes what I was trying to imply in the original: Rose meets and travels with SEVERAL iterations of him. Plus, original was written before Eleven, so it's nice to sneak him in where I can. 
> 
> Anyways, I think this is the first time I've noticed one of my own larger restructures so I thought I would offer that as a note :)


	11. The Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains scenes of graphic violence in flashback (italics).

* * *

_  
"Time…" William begins while educating Rose on Time Lords. "Time isn't linear. Peoples lives, actions— that's what sets a definitive order, and only because humans have no ability to see time for **what it really is.** The Doctor could have only lost you yesterday and here it's been ten years." _

_"A big swirly ball looping in over itself in a constant continuous manner, got it. He once took me home a year after I had left with him the first time, it had only been three days for us. But he had ruined my mum."_

_"That's what makes the word "history" vestigial to a Time Lord. Time can rewrite history, and no one would ever know the difference because, in our mind, it's already happened or never happened at all. Our truth is that trying to make a difference is like grasping at steam. We're all open to interpretation. In some universes Hitler wins, or the Cold War still rages on. Time Lords learn this at their century long tenure at the Academy. It is also why it part of the Time Lord oath to not disrupt any universe's history."_

_"Kinda like a Quentin Tarantino film?" she says, rather happy she understands._

_"Yes," he sighs. "Of course. Quentin Tarantino's mastered the dynamics of the space-time vortex with his unfortunate slights on cinematic art."_

_"Well, I like them," she mumbles. "So you're saying there is no beginning middle or end…"_

_"Only in fairytales…"_

~***~

* * *

She strolls up the driveway to her parent's estate when she can already hear music. She smiles at the familiarity of the scene, bittersweet and uplifting in its own way. It's been years since she last made this walk, only this time around, she remembered to wear gloves. That, and she no longer dreads approaching the door and getting disgruntled servants. After all, she fired them all around a year ago. She rings the bell and isn't surprised when the door opens, and it's Grace who is on the other end smiling brightly.

"You're home!" she sighs, happily enveloping Rose into an awkward hug, as Grace's pregnant stomach gets in the way.

"Yeah, home sweet home," Rose says, and although she has always hated this spacious and sterile house, she means it.

"Where's Elle?" She asks, pulling her scarf and gloves off as Grace closes the door behind her.

"She's with William in the den." Grace replies, her hands resting on the small of her back, flour on the bridge of her nose.

_"Are you okay?" Grace is asking her, placing a hand on her shoulders._

_"After all this, you would think I'd be the one asking you that." Rose whispers, her face lifting from her hands. Thousands dead and the body rise are on the count, and she still has no idea how to fix it. It's the Sycorax all over again, except this time, people are really dying, and she really doesn't have a Doctor to save her._

_"How's Elle?" Rose asks, the weakness in her voice betraying her._

_"She’s with William and Chantelle. She’s really taken a liking to him.” Grace smiles, the tears still falling although she lifts her eyes to the ceiling to stop them. She shakes her head and chuckles, “Keeps talking about when we get out of here, how she wants him to take her to the park.”_

_As Rose swallows, there is a quietness between them, but she can’t manage to get rid of the lump in her throat. The tears that had threatened to spill finally do and Grace reaches for her hand to holds it tightly._

_“This is not your fault.” Grace says, bending to be eye level with her._

_“No, it’s not. But I’ll be damned if I let them take you all away from me,” Rose says, lifting her eyes determinedly._

“I swear, this kid better turn out to be the savior of all mankind because I never signed up for this,” a glowing Graces mumbles as she rubs her enlarged tummy. Rose smiles earnestly and drops her backpack to the floor. Pulling her gloves off as she moves forward.

“I thought that was the whole bloody point, at least the last time I checked,” Rose offers, sniffing and blowing on her hands.

“I know, I just was reiterating that it better,” Grace says, pouting a touch and Rose laughs, staring at the woman with her arms crossed over her stomach.

“Oh come now,” she says, looping her arm through Grace’s while they waddle down the hallway towards laughter. As she hears the tinkling sounds, it causes her heart to skip a beat. Maybe it was too soon to come home, perhaps she should have stayed in Greece longer, but it’s too late to turn back now. She knows she will just have to confront him. Elle had waited too long for her return.

“Prophecy fulfilled and all that jazz. You’re birthing a new member to a dead race, what more do you want?” Rose asks.

“I don’t know about you but I want French toast with peanut butter,” Grace remarks. Rose stops to turn to Grace with a bemused look on her face, and Grace stops. “No? Oh! Um… I guess I mean to say, world peace… yes that’s right, I hope for world peace.”

They chortle together, and Rose just shakes her head as they turn the corner to find Elle playing with a short-haired man with daft ears.

_Rose sees a bright light, she doesn’t know how it broke through the darkness surrounding her, but it holds her and cradles her in its warmth._

_“What is the meaning of this?!” The Glarecox General snarls, outraged by his interruption. She can see William, his curly locks blowing by the winds of time, and she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know how she can see past the blood stinging as it pools into her eyes, why she’s still alive, and how Grace can be dead beside her._

_Slowly, her pain is fading, it’s as if the glow is healing her, and she sees he’s holding the box of Pandora in his hands._

_“Time to return.” he whispers. The General moves away from her, his blade that he had been using against her scalp still coated in her blood. Two other Glarecoxian soldiers drop her to her knees. The glow softly allows her to float to the floor._

_“Insignificant human, you think you can have us retreat by using a box?” The General asks._

_“In normal circumstances, I’d say no, but these are no ordinary circumstances… and do you know why?” William asks the Glarecox General, moving slowly and dangerously closer to the alien above her._

_The General tilts his head intrigued, and William continues._

_“Because this is no ordinary box,” he says before lunging towards the beast above her. “And I am no ordinary man.”_

_She expects them to crash to the ground, roll around and fight, but the enemy has disappeared underneath the weight of her friend, in a burst of brilliant light. It confuses her, takes away some of her thought patterns, but who can think as they die… how many times now?_

_This cannot be the first time?  
Light is filling the room, the screams of the Glarecox around her, but he still doesn’t move.  
Her light is mingling with it.  
Time is reclaiming the small piece of herself that had been trapped in the terrible little box. _

_“William,” she coughs, blood spurting past her lips and rolling down the side of her mouth to the cold floor below her. He rolls over to look at her, his blue eyes warm and gentle._

_“Elle…” she chokes out, pain searing through her chest as she tries to breathe. Everything is getting dimmer, the world slowly losing focus, but she can still see him, brilliant and bright, as he gets to his knees, crawling to her. She feels her upper body lift into his arms, the blood pooling around her back, now sticking to his clothes._

_“With Chantelle. They’re safe.” Rose nods, her eyes spilling new with hot fresh tears._

_“Promise. Promise you will—”_

_“I won’t promise you a thing Rose Tyler. Because I’m not going to need to. I know you have a lot of questions right now, and I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer them all… But I want you to do me something Rose, I want you to relax. I want you to know that everything is going to be okay, and that you are not alone… and that you are loved,” he says, moving blood plastered hair out of her eyes. She looks into William’s eyes and knows in his hearts; he means it. Since the moment she met him, she has never known him to lie. Not this Doctor. She knows that he loves Grace, the same way hers had loved her, but she knows that she matters to him as he holds her at this moment. It’s enough._

_“You’re going to, well… you’re going to fall asleep now, and when you wake up everything will be okay, alright? But I need you to promise me something.” He sorrowfully looks over to Grace, lying lifelessly on the floor, not more than a few feet away. “This is the second instance where this has happened to her.” He shakes his head, talking more to himself than her. “You two have more in common than you would think.” She wonders what he means by that. The vortex flows from her, she feels the light leaving her with the same speed as what feels like her life force. But it is touching him now; she can hear the melody of the vortex as it wraps itself around Grace._

_Had he been a different person when Grace had first met him? Had she gone through the same sorrow and grief while feeling selfish, knowing he was still there? Still, she listens, still fights past the pain so she can understand. How she’s sure she’s not going to die, Rose doesn’t know, but she trusts him. Her arms fall to the floor, she has no energy left inside of her, but she’s holding on as he’s holding on to her._

_“She knows about regeneration, but it will still upset her, even take some time. Promise me you’ll tell her... Tell her I_ — _I love her. Rose, tell her I love her.”_

Rose’s breath hitches in her throat at the sight, too many memories that hurt, too much beauty. She knew all along she would _have_ to see him, but she never expected this. Here he is, reborn into the flesh that she fell so hard for, smiling and happy, tickling her little sister.

William and Elle look up, his intense blue eyes and hers almost identical, you would swear that she was his child with Grace, and her stomach does a somersault into her mouth. She feels the world around her vignette under their beautiful eyes. Elle's voice break her from the intense spell that he is weaving around her.

“RORO!!!” Elle cries, and she’s up and out from underneath him and into her waiting arms.

“Oh my goodness!” Rose voice breaks, the tears spilling down her cheeks as she holds the eight-year-old in her arms tightly. “Oh my Elle, you’ve grown so much this!”

“You should see how strong she is!” a familiar northern accent rings out. “Jus’ about knocked my head right off!”

She looks up to see him standing there, his hands in his denim pockets, still partial to solid coloured, muted jumpers. His hair is a bit longer this time around, and he’s grown a beard recently, but it’s still all too familiar, a face she left behind years ago. She watches as he takes one hand out of the pockets and wraps it around Grace, looking down at her tummy with adoration in his eyes.

_The waves crash sporadically into the shore, a shade of blue she’s never been privy to see before off the coast of Aspronisi. It’s almost worthy of being defined as otherworldly. She isn’t here to vacation, she’s here to learn, and so she has really no idea where they’ve taken her. Weeks ago, she thought that if they first started with this process, she probably would have turned on her heel and left without ever finding out what was in store for her. The aliens are singing in front of her, as she steps back into the warm waters behind her, an ocean to her back._

_“There was a great battle: the Glarecox against the humans,” the head priest, Obo says._

_All their steely eyes glint in the sunlight, too big and far apart to seem human, to appear not dangerous, but it doesn’t alarm her. They are a peaceful race, quiet and ethereal._

_“But we, the ancient race of the Ouroboros came out of hiding and helped the humans defeat the impending doom of the Glarecox with the help of the Time Lord. In doing so, we fulfilled our prophecy, and by bringing back his wife, the Time Lord fulfilled his. The prophecy was brought to the attention of the Wolf, the Vessel and the man the universe knows as ‘the Doctor.’ This was only the beginning, for to prepare for the future, The Vessel and the Doctor had to birth The Protector.” He says as she continues to walk backwards into the waves. They follow her into the waters, their robes spreading out all around them. She can smell something burning in the distance. She knows it’s the cast iron heating up over the open fire. It varies much differently from the one she knows, but she can still see it as a snake eating its own tail, a sign for the infinite. She wonders if they can smell out of the small slits they have for noses, but she shakes the thought away and tries to focus on the ceremony._

_“You are a the wolf of the mountain Rose Tyler. Hiding in sheep’s clothing,” Obo says, his voice carrying across the water._

_“The Vessel will die, and the Doctor will be called away, but the Protector will need protection from the Wolf. Rose, you are the link to connect it all. Who not better to deal with the Wolf than it’s captor? You will be here when the Great War wipes out time and space. When the universe will die. Are you willing to be trained to take on that task?”_

_She closes her eyes and sees visions of space being altered._

_The Doctor and a redheaded woman are lying on a bed laughing.  
William in the park watching Elle from a bench.  
Claire._   
_A war she’s heard of but never been witness to, one she’s always wondered about, but never dared to ask._

_“Yes.”_

“Rose…” Elle says into her shoulder. “Rose, you’re hurting me.”

“OH!” she replies, feeling rather silly. She strokes the strawberry blonde hair out of her sister’s face. “Sorry Ellie-Bellie. I’m just really happy to see you.” She allows her focus to fall on Elle and only Elle. She cannot believe it’s been almost a decade in this alternate universe, and that she’s been missing out on so much of it.

Elle smiles at her and takes her by the hand, leading her to the couch beside the fire. A tree is set up in the corner with tons of presents that Rose assumes are mostly for the young girl in her arms.

“William said I had to wait till you came home before we could open them,” Elle says before turning and looking at the man in question. “Can I open them now? Please?”

“Oi! You’re a cheeky monkey you are, you know I meant Christmas day.” He picks her up and turns her upside down to tickle her in mid-air. She giggles, kicking and squealing at the onslaught.

“Oh, let her open one now. She’s been a good girl,” Grace says as she clears the dishes from the coffee table. Grace looks up at her and adds politely, “That is, if it’s okay with you Rose.”

_She’s sitting there with a double-sided photo case in her hands. On one side is her mother, father, Mickey and her, with Elle in her lap. The other is of Grace and William, curly locks and all, with herself and Elle once more. Elle looks like she’s gotten older between the two pictures, where she has stayed precisely the same. It’s still a symbol of what has yet to come. In coming here, she had learned what the Greeks call her **fatum,** her destiny. _

_“This is your family?” Obo asks behind her. They are peaceful, and she is learning to feel that peace and internalize it the way they have for centuries. She touches his cold hand on her shoulder. The skin is hard and smooth, somewhat like scales, but it still warms her._

_“Old and new,” she whispers, tucking the picture away in her backpack, and he drops his hand from her shoulder._

_“Have you decided to tell them?” he asks her._

_“I’m going to have to eventually,” she says, stopping for a moment before adding, “I’m sure he already knows.”_

_“Quite possibly. It’s hard to slip anything past the Time Lords, they see all there is, all there was, and…”_

_“All there ever could be, believe me— I know,”_

_“I forget sometimes, that you have travelled with him, that you are not from our universe.” He makes a noise that sounds like a laugh and a snake hissing. “You look perturbed child.”_

_“I’m just thinking,” she says, sitting down to change her shoes from runners to hiking boots, “Not once did the prophecy mention… my Doctor.”_

_“We discussed that when you first came,” he replies, no hesitation or regret in his voice, and she shakes her head and continues to tie the laces._

_“I know… like I said I was just thinking…”_

_“You came here looking for answers, and you only got more questions. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you, knowing you’ll live to see them all die. But pain is your gift Rose.”_

_“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she tells him, continuing to pack. “I don’t think I’m ready.”_

_“I know it seems hard, it always will. Something ancient resides within you and only you can control it’s hunger. You will always struggle between finding inner peace and taming the wild beast inside.”_

_She turns to face the alien who has guided her these last few months._

_“How did you do it?” she asks._

_“It took centuries to master these feelings, centuries of prayer and meditation.” His thin lips curling up into a smile._

_“I guess I should give you a ring in a few centuries to see how I’m progressing.” She slips the bag over her shoulders and winces._

_“How is your neck?” She had been right about the branding— they did it right at the base of her neck. It hadn’t been as painful as she had thought it would be. After the ceremony was over, a few of the elders blessed the marking, and the pain had subsided. He walks her through the cave in silence, past the others, all meditating in silence, all calm and peaceful. Once they reach the cave’s entrance, she turns to face him, wondering what she’s supposed to do. They just spent the last year together; is it appropriate to hug your snake-like alien spiritual leader? Or is that rude?_

_“It was destiny that brought you here, to this universe Rose Tyler. The Ouroboros foresaw it. It shall be a lonely path, but a noble one.”_

Rose looks at the upside-down girl, all the blood rushing to her head, yet so silent and still, William waiting pensively for a decision. Grace is standing at attention.

Shrugging her shoulders, Rose smiles as she says, “Who am I to deny that face?”

Elle squeals as William places her right side up so she can set about opening her allowed gift. Chantelle, the nanny who has been so close to Elle, sits across from them, half dozing off in the warmth of the room.

“Hey Chantelle, how have you been?” Rose asks her, genuinely interested in the younger woman’s reply. Chantelle had been there through it all when Jackie and Pete died when the almost-apocalypse happened, and many secrets had been revealed, finding out that “William” was really an alien and that Rose was really Elle’s sister, about time travel and alternate dimensions and the true intentions of Torchwood. She had stayed and persevered through it all.

“Oh you know, same old, same old.” Chantelle’s voice manages to creak out, her arms stretching to the sky. She smiles before adding, “I met someone…”

“Did you?” Rose asks, her interest somewhat piqued.

“Not much to do when Elle’s in school. So I’ve been looking into some lessons myself. His name is Erik, he’s a student too, came here from America, but used to live in Scotland. He’s a nice bloke, and I fancy him.” Chantelle says, and Rose smiles as Elle jumps up into her lap and tears into her gift.

“You’re getting to big to do that now Elle,” Chantelle tells her. But Elle gives her a displeased look and shrugs before she goes back to the present. Chantelle shakes her head before turning back to Rose. “What about you? did you find what you needed out in Greece?”

“Somewhat…” Rose replies gently.


	12. Wounds

Jack is standing behind a projector, images displayed on the wall. "It's a trans-dimensional subconscious image viewer. Essentially, it picks up on REM patterns, and it chronicles the images. It's not perfected, you can only see images and sounds, and so any dreams requiring pre-existing knowledge will hardly make any sense…"

"So, it's a magic dream recorder." Martha retorts.

"You should know by now just from travelling with the Doctor that nothing is magic." 

"Oh, I dunno, sometimes it sure seems like it. Have you ever tried it out?"

"The magic dream recorder?"

"I see you two are getting along well," the Doctor interrupts, and Martha finds him standing in the doorway of Jack's office. They had eaten lunch while he had gone to talk with a few scientists about their acquired technology. Jack gets up from his seat and circles the table.

"We are, thank you very much. She's quite cute, Doc; when'd you pick her up? 2010? 2015?" Jack asks, winking at her. 

"That's my wife, I'll have you know," the Doctor nods his head over to Martha and walking to sit down opposite from her, a coffee in his hand.

"So I heard," Jack says bitterly. "It seems you've had lots of adventures since we last met, haven't you?" 

The Doctor just takes a sip of the drink and rests his chin on his hand. Martha can feel the weight of his exhaustion pushing against her mind, bending her barriers. She reaches out and holds him. He needs rest, but right now, he's just too occupied. He doesn't let Jack bait him this time but instead gazes at her, and she nods in understanding and holds out her hand to him. He takes it from across the table and laces his long soft fingers through hers. This is all she can do to support him.

"When did you start drinking coffee?" Jack seems intrigued by the bond between the two. 

"He didn't," Martha replies, taking the drink and gulping it back. He made it with a little extra sugar, just the way she likes it. She keeps her gaze fixed on the Doctor.

"You need sleep." She tells him, and he meets her gaze. It's like Jack is no longer in the room.

"I've been sleeping too much lately." He yawns to her. 

_It doesn't matter—you're exhausted._ She lets her mind form the words before she pushes them in his direction.

 **_I can't afford to lose consciousness right now._ ** **_If I do, I'll think it was all just a dream._ **

"You really ARE his wife, aren't you? Drinking each other's drinks. Worrying about each other's sleeping patterns. Watch out though, kids, soon the honeymoon ends, and you're left fighting over how to redecorate the TARDIS and who's going to go ask for directions." His voice drips with sarcasm.

Martha lets go of the Doctor's hand and briefly looks up at Jack to smile, then looks elsewhere. She feels the Doctor's need to be alone with his old friend, catch up, and probably once more, talk about the tragedy of losing Rose. She thinks she's a reasonable person, but she can only hear the same story so many times before it gets tedious—even if she isn't in love with him. 

"Jack?" she asks quietly, standing.

"Yes?" 

"Is the TARDIS no longer quarantined? I'd like to be able to get to my room, possibly have a nap; I have to head home for a few days now that we are back. We... are in our universe, right?" 

Jack looks to the Doctor, who just shrugs. The time lord extends his left hand out to the middle of the table, grabbing the coffee carafe and pouring himself a cup full of black tar. 

"Right," she mutters, sliding the cup she has in her hand off the table and carrying it out into the hallway.

Jack pushes a little button on a wrist communicator and begins talking to someone about allowing Martha on the TARDIS. The door closes behind her, and both men stand there in silence, both too proud to say anything, both trying to be the bigger man.

  
~***~

* * *

_"After completing the Academy, one is injected with a batch of the genetically engineered organisms that could regenerate their bodies a maximum of twelve times, giving them thirteen lives."_

_"Wait a second… so… Time Lords are not born able to regenerate?" Rose looks up from her notebook and pencil. They are sitting in her office at Torchwood, his curls cut shorter this time than usual._

_"No, I think I just **explained** that." _

_"How did they decide on thirteen lives? Did they play with the dosage, or was that the first batch and everyone figured that thirteen was good enough?"_

_"That's a question only Rassilion could answer, I suppose. I know it had to do with the Vampire Wars." He sighs, shifting in his seat. He always shifts in his seat when Rassilion comes up._

_"Your people never asked this? They never thought, 'oh boy, I'm about to inject my body with foreign organisms so I can sustain thirteen lives. Why thirteen? Why not!'"_

_"No_ — _Maybe? Do you ever stop with your incessant banter?"_

_"No— So logically, it's possible then that if you got a hold of another batch of the stuff, you could get yourself a whole new set of regenerations?"_

_"Yes, technically, I suppose, but I never would do that."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because thirteen lives are enough when a lifespan is a few centuries. A soul can only take so much Rose, and we were trained to psychologically handle it. Without that training… well, I can only imagine…"_

"Rose?" William asks from across the room. 

"Mmm?" she returns sleepily. Apparently, she had dozed off, and the only people left in the den are her and a man who strangely looks like the first man she ever truly loved.

"Grace took Elle to bed and went herself. I know you were waiting for them to go before we discussed what the Ouroboros told you in Greece," he says, his arms crossed in front of him— he almost seems like hers, with a thread of pain and anger that coils around him, shutting himself away from her like he always did. The jumper (sans leather jacket) doesn't help as the thought vanishes, and she sits up properly on the couch and clears her throat.

"Yes, well, they told me about the prophecy. Grace's and your child, they said someone will need to protect the child when... but… you already know this," she says, questioning why she's even reporting to him and deciding to challenge him on it. "So, why are you making me retell you?" 

He just remains silent, staring at her with his intense blue eyes. She feels her throat drying and wishes she hadn't given up drinking. A few fingers of gin on the rocks would calm the uneasiness she feels.

"When I regenerated so we could give life to this child, I didn't think we'd be forcing you to be such an integral part in its upbringing." He starts, leaning back and rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry we never asked you. I'm sorry we never had the time to discuss the ramifications." 

She shifts nervously and giggles lightly, trying to make the unease within her settle. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad. So I'll be a nanny for a while. I… um… it doesn't mean we don't have to stop looking for ways to rebuild or find a TARDIS. Maybe we'll just build our OWN time machine?" she says, feeling rather silly. She doesn't know how to please him and finds it disturbing she feels such a dire need.

"Right… of course," he says, and it seems forced as he places both hands on his knees, looking at his knuckles and, more so, focusing on his wedding band.

"Capture a Time Agent." She yawns.

"Oh, so you've met the Face of Boe, have you?"

"I know a thing or two about the enigmatic Captain Jack Harkness, yes." They sit there, staring into the fire, the contrast of the light and shadow making his features sharper and more handsome than she remembered. The silence isn't unbearable anymore, humour on their side always.

"Grace is still trying to wrap her head around the moniker 'the Vessel.' I don't imagine we'll ever hear the end of that one."

"Weird monikers are part and parcel with loving us— her. I mean, when you love... humans." She particularly wishes now she had gone to bed or had learned years ago how to keep her mouth shut. But he doesn't appear to have any physical reaction to what she says. His face is calm and collected, sharp as ever.

"Humans and their love. I am a fool, a fool in love, yes. But what most don't recognize is love. Although it can be eternal, it is always a fluctuating and unpredictable beast. To say I love Grace with all my hearts is to say the sky is blue," he says, looking up at Rose. "In a different universe, on a different Earth, I loved you. The sky is blue in that universe as well, is it not?" 

She doesn't know how to react, as her eyes well with tears that she is terrified of spilling. She doesn't dare move, including her lips, so she has no way to reply to his question. 

She is sure she wasn't meant to.

He sighs and scratches his head as he gets up, not looking at her, and she is thankful for it.

"Goodnight Rose," he says, leaving the den to return to the room she had given him and his wife when she had left the country in search of herself.

She sits there motionless still, staring off into space.

"Goodnight, Doctor." She whispers, hot tracks forming on her cheeks.

~***~

* * *

The Doctor stares at the man he used to know as Captain, now he identifies as the Director of Torchwood. "Jack, about Satellite Five…"

"Don't worry about it," Jack interrupts. "I'm alive, right? Two hands, two feet, which is more than I can say for you." 

"Jack— "

"Besides, I made it back." Jack begins moving around the table, over to the dream recorder. "Didn't really expect to be with you forever." 

"You need to know, I didn't know… and when I did, I saw your future without me, and it was one much more fulfilling. It was for the— "

"Oh, don't you DARE patronize me!" Jack interrupts with disgust, "The great and mysterious Doctor, always knowing what is _best_ ," Jack spits vehemently at him, a sense of frenetic loathing in the air.

"If you stayed with me, you were going to die," the Doctor tells him, his voice dangerously calm. If Jack had known this tenth incarnation better, he would know this is the sign not to keep pushing, but Jack doesn't, so he doesn't stop.

"I already had! Better than being left behind, being left like this!" he raves.

"I killed you once. I wasn't about to do it again!" the Doctor snaps, standing to his feet. The chair falls to the floor behind him. The words echo around them, a constant reminder. He feels Jack examining him, and he is desperate for the former Time Agent to find his sincerity. Instead, the Captain just smiles and shakes his head, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes.

"I never could really be mad at you, especially now—you're just too cute." He takes Martha's chair and turns it around, sitting on it backwards, resting his arms along the top. "Is that why you made me like this? Made me so I couldn't die?"

"What are you talking about?" the Doctor asks, falling into a different seat. 

"You brought me back, and ever since you did… Let's just say there were side effects." 

"I didn't bring you back," he murmurs, his head is beginning to ache with the exhaustion he's feeling. 

There is a pressing silence between them, a quiet that he knows it's up to him to break. Jack, at least, deserves to know what happened to him. 

"It was Rose. She consumed the time vortex. With all the power of time running through her, she wiped out the entire fleet of Daleks. She altered the fabric, weaved it up new so that you were brought back, but it was too late. She was burning like a star, and she _wouldn't_ let go. So I absorbed it and regenerated."

Jack's face breaks into a slow grin. "I was wondering how that happened. Working here gave me access to all files regarding your existence, and they had already started collecting a profile on you."

"About Rose…" Jack starts off with the eternal question.

"Gone," the Doctor offers a one-word reply. 

"Dead." The tone of Jack's voice is so forced, almost as if he's trying to be professional.

"Safe," the Doctor reassures him, and he watches as Jack's face contorts in confusion. 

"But she was on the list of the dead, I saw it… Hell, I was the one who had to put her on it." 

"She's not dead. I just…I lost her…"

They sit in silence for a few moments before he sighs and takes another sip of the coffee. "There was a tear between our universe and the one she's in now. The first time it happened, we ran into some Cybermen, war on Earth and all that rubbish. When everything was set right, Mickey decided he wanted to stay behind." 

Jack's eyes bulge slightly at the name. "Mickey, the Idiot?"

"Mickey the Saviour, I guess, in the end. Something changed him. But… he… Anyways, we left without him, met up with Satan."

"Satan, as in… Prince of Darkness? Fallen Angel? Lucifer? The Devil?" Jack asks casually.

"The very same."

"How is he doing these days?" Jack chuckles, leaning forward to grab himself a cup of coffee.

"Imploding in on himself within a black hole," the Doctor says matter-of-factly.

"That's it? Seems pretty short n' sweet for the master of all evil." Jack is shaking up three sugar packets before ripping them open.

"No, something else happened," the Doctor adds carefully.

"What?" Jack asks. 

"Rose started talking about shared mortgages," he recounts to him, fidgeting in his seat.

"Oh no," Jack sighs, putting his head in his hands.

"No, it wasn't that—well, it _was_ that, but we had lost the TARDIS, then I was absolutely sure I'd never see her again…" 

_He and Ida are stranded at the bottom of the pit, he is out of rope, and he knows the only way there is any hope of making it out of this is to continue downward. **Contingency plans… quick think, think… Resources always cover what you have**_ **,** _he thinks. About an hour of oxygen, about two kilometres of wire, and he left his sonic screwdriver in his jacket pocket. Suppose it was just him, just him and Ida, or just him and the rest of the crew. In that case, he'd go on without hesitation, but he thinks of her face, her willingness to go down with him, how she probably would look at this moment, standing there, waiting… always waiting for him because he said he would be back. He thinks of her bright eyes, her beans on toast, the way she makes him laugh. He thinks of holding her hand and showing her the universe, thinks of what it would have been like to show her the birth of the Elysium star, to take her to meet the real Phantom of the Opera, since it was her favourite musical._

_"If they get back in touch... if you talk to Rose... just tell her... Tell her I..." Thoughts run through his head as if he's standing in front of a screen playing many different home movies. The films are things that have happened, things that have yet to happen, and things that may never happen. Every one of them depends on the outcome of every choice. He feels the warmth of the people's emotions in the films, and he can see them, but they are always just out of his reach._

_"Oh, she knows," he says more to himself than the woman above him before disengaging his line._

"Doctor?" he hears Jack say as he places his hand over the top of the Doctor's. 

"Hmm?" he says, waking out of his reverie.

"What happened? Nothing in this universe could have torn you apart."

_Nothing in this universe could have torn you apart._

Hot tears fall down his cheeks, and he pulls his hand away, laughing slightly as he wipes at them. Looking back to the man in front of him, he can see Jack's surprise and how he is holding his tongue.

"Interesting. That hasn't happened in quite some time." His voice is barely above a whisper. Looking away from Jack, he lets out a shaky breath.

"A tear of that magnitude cannot exist without getting worse. I took Rose back to her mother, and we saw the damage. People thought they were ghosts—fools," he says, his hands bawled in front of his mouth. 

"Who?"

"Torchwood, the world, Rose and I. I've gone over it again and again in my head. The only thing I did wrong was not to tell her." 

Jack doesn't need to ask to know what he means. "So she and Jackie are on the other side?" 

"With Pete and Mickey." 

Jack's eyes widen in surprise at the mention of Rose's dead father's name. "Alive?" he asks.

"And quite well off," the Doctor adds. "The safest and best place in all the universes to leave her."

"But still, to leave her," Jack responds, knowing that this was never what he wanted. He knew from the first day he set foot in the TARDIS that the Doctor was hopelessly in love with one Rose Tyler. It doesn't shock him that this regeneration responds just as strongly to her. He stands up and begins moving around the room they are in.

"Exactly," the Doctor nods before looking up to watch Jack pace around the small room. 

He sits there in silence while Jack processes everything he just told him. They can't look at each other, it seems. They are both unable to meet in the middle and mourn together. At least, that is what he assumes.

And in this case, his assumptions are wrong.

"Well," says Jack, slamming his hands down on the table's side as he looks at a surprised Doctor. "I guess we'll just have to answer her call."

~***~

* * *

"Can I see some I.D., miss?" a tall bald man asks Rose from behind the velvet rope. Rolling her eyes, she lifts her jumper and shirt to grab her passport from a concealed belt she wears at her waist. 

"All right!" she hears one guy say behind her, and a few laugh and clap. 

"Take it as a compliment, Rose!" Chantelle yells above the music that's blaring from inside of the darkened building. She can hear it word for word, although she tries her best not to listen.

Rose smiles as best she can at her friend, who's arm in arm with two other women on the other side of the rope.

"I would love to get asked for my I.D.," says Grace smiling gently, stroking Rose's arm to try and calm her nerves. The bouncer looks at the picture and then, with a surprised look, back to Rose. His eyes squint a touch as he looks at her, then back to the passport in his hand. Glaring at him angrily, she listens to the music and sounds around her as he takes his time. She already hates it here in the United States— she hates how hot it is and how she always has to show her I.D. to get in anywhere. She hates how summer and how she was tortured into wearing fewer layers than her three piece work and political ensembles. She hates how Chantelle keeps dragging her from club to club with a couple of giggly fools who waste her time. 

"You sure don't look thirty-two, Miss Tyler," the bald giant gruffly tells her, suspicion still clouding his voice.

"Thirty-three next month," she says, snatching her passport back, smiling as politely as possible. The hesitating bouncer nods, and another man opens the rope to let the ladies into the club.

"Must be all the botox she's injecting." Chantelle's friend Lucy murmurs, and Nancy, the groom's sister, giggles as they lead the way into a dark room. 

"Slags," Rose murmurs, to which Grace shushes her and snickers. It ends up helping Rose's dower mood. Where other people may enjoy it, Rose hates the fact that she still looks twenty. It worries her that people will think that Grace may pass for her mother in a few years. It annoys her that Chantelle is younger than her and is about to get married as well as into bars without any hesitation, at least, in America.

" _Why_ are you getting married here, again?" Rose asks Chantelle.

"Because this is where Erik's parents are, and they're getting on now. His dear mum is terrified of flying," she says, sipping the bluish drink one Lucy just purchased for her at the bar. 

"How'd they get here from Scotland then?' Rose asks.

"It's called a boat," Nancy says. "People back then used them to travel loooong distances." 

Lucy bursts into a fit of giggles over the remark, and for the first time in years, Rose feels her anger begin to boil over. Prickles tingle all over her skin like gooseflesh, and her beast stirs in its hibernating state. Closing her eyes, she squeezes her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, breaking the skin. It's a pain that blocks out the anger, the ache that calms her and causes her beast to go back to sleep. " Nancy has been irritating her the entire evening of this hen night- _bachelorette party_ ; Lucy and Nancy corrected her earlier. It's Lucy whose annoying laugh has been grating on her nerves.

"Besides, it's not like we can't all afford a little fun in the sun," Chantelle shouts over the music, not wanting to wage war with her almost sister-in-law. "AND." Chantelle's eyes are wide as she turns to face Rose. "You promised you would try and enjoy it. We've been friends for years, and I've never seen you take a holiday.

"Rose, you know that that's the reason why you're my maid of honour, right?" Chantelle says, trying to create some peace. "You are my best friend- Supervisor, yes, but one of my best friends." 

Rose is almost tempted to tell her she knows that Chantelle asked Grace first. Grace didn't know if they could take baby Peter, and she was forced to refuse, which meant Chantelle ended up asking Rose. She was _almost_ tempted, but not enough to blame her. In this universe, she has come to the resolution. She'll always be second best.

Closing her eyes, she remembers her dreams from the night before, jumbled slivers of a past life, her current one, insecurities, and pride. She remembers seeing Jack, her Jack, and having him in her flat. But it was messy, and the harder she tried the clean it, the dirtier it got. She kept finding piles and piles of plates with toast crusts and caked-on beans as she desperately tried to prove to Jack she was his Rose. But he just shook his head and walked out on her.

The next dream was of her in a void ship, a metallic window showing her void. She saw another void ship approach, and she knew her Doctor was aboard it. He was there, and she was waiting for him to save them, save her from floating aimlessly through the void, no momentum to drive her forward, to stop her from just sitting there. She calls to him, banging on the window, as his ship comes hurtling towards her, somewhat like the Newton's Cradle game she has on her desk back at home. She remembers thinking, _but the ball bearings at home have strings holding them in place; keep them from being knocked into obl_ — But it had been too late- he crashed into her, a smile on his face, numbness in his eyes, as she went hurtling through complete nothingness, with no chance of slowing down or stopping.

"You're going to need to get me really drunk," Rose states Grace once Chantelle is dragged away by the rest of her bridal party.

"I thought you quit drinking?" Grace asked suspiciously.

"I did until I felt _it_ rising." They watch Lucy and Nancy force Chantelle to start dancing to the song beginning to play. 

Sighing, she takes the drink that Chantelle had left on the table and sucks it back. It is times like this she misses Mickey, Mickey, who always let her just be herself. He never expected her to pretend to be anything different. He just let her be. At best, their dancing was infrequent, but it was nice to know she had someone who understood her. It's now that she realizes she hasn't had release since his death a few years ago. Sighing, she decides to deal with the entire situation with one brilliant solution.

" _It's_ rising?" Grace remarks, surprised. "You're sure?" 

"Yeah, I know it hasn't happened in years, and I know that the year in Greece was supposed to make it, so it didn't ever happen again. I know! Okay!?" The truth was, she was a bit concerned. She did uproot her life for a year to learn how to control the animal within her. She had left William, Grace, and Ellie-Bellie so that she wasn't forced to take medication that made her feel numb inside, so she could control her anger. She did it, so she was prepared for her future without them.

"Won't alcohol make it worse?" Grace asks as Rose waves down a waitress.

"Whaddya selling?" she asks the woman with the tray.

"I've got sourpuss shots for $2 and tequila for $7," The waitress responds.

Grace watches as Rose pulls a ten-dollar bill out of her back pocket and hands it over when it occurs to her that she hasn't seen the brunette in jeans since she's known her, and wonders why she would avoid them that much.

"No, actually, on the contrary," she answers as she shoots the vile liquid and instantly makes a face.

"It might get me to a point where I just don't care what they say. Next time though, remind me to get a lime."

  
~***~

* * *

The projector's constant whirling hums to a stop as the lights go on, his eyes adjusting to the new light. 

"What was the purpose of that? I understand all the fundamentals of time travel—this was like I was at a third-grade lesson," the Doctor remarks, holding his hand out to the screen and looking at Jack. Jack, who still hasn't clarified what he meant by 'answering her call,' nods his head in understanding.

"You said you can't get back to her, right? Said there was no feasible way, that it was impossible." 

"Yes, that's correct," the Doctor replies skeptically, and Jack grabs the slide tray out of the projector and places it on the table. 

"Let's say that the slide is this universe, and this one right behind it is the universe that Rose is in. Now, according to you, there was a huge hole punched right through these universes, causing them to almost collapse into each other. Makes sense, especially with an anti-matter ship roaring through without any care. It would be like a ball bearing trying to break through this image into the other." He says, creating a circle from the slides. "So, jagged edges, a huge hole that wasn't needed really. But what if someone created a hole by essentially taking a hot pin and searing a tiny hole through it?"

"That is repairable, over time, and barely noticeable. It's still quite dangerous, leaving a universe's defences down," the Doctor replies, and Jack can see him using his brilliant brain to figure out the possibilities. 

"Still, we are fumbling fools. If the Daleks had the power to create a cauterized wound in time, they would have done so as well. What good is taking over a universe if you cannot enjoy your reign?" he asks, somewhat defeated.

"I guess. But, who's to say that WE create the wound? What if the wound and the path were created for us? A path right to the back of Rose's universe?" He lightly touches all the slides in the circle, slowly making his way over to the last slide.

"Universes aren't separated out like that; they're a big jumbled mess." The Doctor's voice is dangerous, as if afraid to believe the possibility.

"Yes, true, if you want to think like that. So is human DNA, but think about human DNA in its most basic form. Imagine if all of that pesky coursing was taken care of for us." Jack folds his arms, a sly grin on his face.

"Jack, what are you trying to tell me? That we can travel from universe to universe to find Rose?" 

"Basically, yes." Jack sits up and rests his arms against the table, looking the Doctor straight in the eye.

But the Doctor just shakes his head. "No, this is crazy, this is stupid…We can't do this. Again we are leaving these universes vulnerable if we start punching holes through them—"

" _Searing_ holes through them. And you keep forgetting, these holes are already there. We didn't create them. We stumbled upon them like a child trying to find water in a pond."

"Children drowned in ponds, Jack."

"The creator seemed quite intent on making it known that they were there for us to use. It was only after you told me about losing Rose that it made sense. We were going to send a surveillance team in, but the technology we have is either broken or limited. You are the only one with a TARDIS."

"Is that why you pulled me back to this universe with that giant power surge?" he demands angrily, his hands splayed against the smooth table.

"No! Again, it wasn't us; it was merely a coincidence, thus leading me to further believe that Rose has a hand in this. It seems a bit fortuitous that we managed to blindly reach out and pull you back to us from some random universe."

"I just don't see how I couldn't have noticed floating through the void from universe to universe," he mumbles, hands folded on the cold surface in front of him. 

"Have you been sleeping a lot lately? Does the TARDIS seems to need more repairs?" 

The Doctor's head shoots up. "The TARDIS always needs more repairs," he argues, but it's too late. He's already thinking of the possibilities. Both men understand the implication. It says that someone has been pulling the wool over his eyes, someone has been trying to sneak their intentions in passively. It screams Rose all over.

It's then that the Doctor thinks of the situation, of all that Jack knows, of how he managed to make it. He stands and slowly slides away from the desk, his body feeling disoriented. Something is off—he feels foggy, like someone is clouding his judgment. He remembers that he has felt this before, but at first does not know where.

"Jack," he asks, somewhat cautiously, scared to know the reason behind it. "How do you know all of this? This technology and theory are far advanced. How would you even know to reach out blindly through the holes in the fabric?"

"Well," Jack answers hesitantly, looking away while scratching the back of his head. "The thing is it already has sorta happened." 

"How do you mean it's already happened?" The Doctor paces slowly towards Jack, and then it hits him like a wall. He knows exactly what the feeling is, and his throat constricts as he tries to swallow, his hearts ready to burst from his chest, his ears ringing with sensitivity.

"I thought it was you, but it turned out I was wrong. They just sorta showed up one day, taught me…" Jack starts, as they both hear the footsteps coming down the hall steadily towards them.

"No," the Doctor whispers, wanting to back up and press himself to the wall, but he is too proud. He wants to close his eyes, to shut out the sight, but he can't because it's also surreal and beautiful to see her standing there, too crazy and wonderful and strange all in one. 

"Hello Doctor," she says, her golden hair flowing down her shoulders, standing there in a power suit.

"Romana?" 


	13. Madame President

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's also going to start getting a bit more... sexual. Sensual? hopefully you feel both. But its warning time, and from now on you can just expect it can happen at some point!

“Hello Doctor,” Romana says, with her golden hair flowing down her shoulders, standing there in a power suit. She’s aged slightly, at least this version of her has, and he can sense Paris enveloping her.

“Romana?” he asks, and there is no surprise left in his voice, no energy left to be baffled once more. It only makes sense in some mysterious way that she is here, who has taught them everything they need to know.

“You don’t look any different,” he comments.

“You do,” she smiles, and it’s a sly challenge. She subtly is trying to prove her superiority over him, which is something he thinks he can remember about her, and yet is not used to, at least, not anymore. It’s been so long since he first met her, a few hundred years now? What does he even know about her anymore?

“Yes, well… Earth street gangs, the time war, some trouble with the ladies more than just the once,” he remarks. She widens her eyes a little in surprise but smiles knowingly. “The usual. How about you, Romana? Or should I call you Madame President?”

“You could always call me Fred,” she says, and he smiles. Romana, she’s like a crisp autumn breeze, refreshing but is still slightly cold. Romana, the one who got away, the one who taught him everyone can change, and oh, how she has changed. He never was surprised that she outgrew him.

He watches as she shakes her head. “Yes, it’s still President, at least, where we come from. It’s good to know that things have not changed that much from universe to universe,” she says and turns guiltily to Jack. “Oh, sorry, did he not know yet? Or have you told him?”

Jack smiles and shakes his head, “No, I hadn’t told him as much yet, though I had hoped he had understood what I had been leading up to.”

The Doctor returns the smiles of the two people in front of him, and he feels as though he has been a fool, a feeling he doesn’t like, but he maintains his composure.

“I see you two must have had a good chuckle over the situation. Here I thought you were of this universe. It only makes sense, Romana, that you were strong and capable in any other universe,” he bows his head slightly in her direction before placing his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, don’t be upset, Doctor,” she says brightly, walking towards him with her hand outstretched. “I was sincere about my gratefulness at the fact that this universe seems in many ways somewhat similar. After all, it means we will be able to work more efficiently and move into a pattern where we both succeed and do not have to relearn each other's personalities and habits.”

He takes her hand in his, and he remembers it being as soft as the last time he held it. Visions of a beautiful Time Lord with the same face laughing as he dragged her through the streets of France flashed through his head, and he wonders if she’s reading his thoughts right now. He already begins to wonder about this Romana’s history, why she’s here, and what she’s looking for.

“We should get started,” she says, turning on her heel, and he follows her out the small door. She doesn’t wait for Jack, and he’s not surprised, though he wishes he could remember if she had always been like this. Memories are a funny thing _—_ after an extended amount of time, the exact details are reduced down to phrases and feelings, something that only holds sentimental value over time, not fact.

“So tell me,” he says, after catching up to her and walking side by side with her as equals.

“Have you ever been to Paris?”

~***~

* * *

She’s dancing. Somehow they stumbled upon an after-hours dance club, and she didn’t mind when the bouncer asked for her I.D. She doesn’t remember what happened to the other girls, though she vaguely remembers Grace taking her passport.

_“This way, I know where you are,” she had said, worry etched into her face._

It really doesn’t matter right now because she’s a part of the music. Every piece of her is in tune with the song. She can feel every note, sense every word, and move to the hidden beat, something a Jimmy told her about when she was younger.

_“It’s like a slower beat to the song,” he told her when she asked why he was dancing so slow and sensuous to an upbeat track playing._

_“It’s the thing about house, trance whatever you want to call it,” he said, taking her hips with his hands and slowing her to his pace. “Most of ‘em have it. You jus’ gotta find it. ‘Cuz once ya do, it jus’ clicks.” And just like that, she feels her first hidden beat._

She feels the heat surrounding her, the music so loud there is no room in her brain to think, so she dances. Something inside her is pleased. 

She dances, her body belonging to the music around her, the sound drowning out everything but her heartbeat. It’s a remix. For some reason, someone thought they needed to make it sound more like a dance song- why she’ll never know. But as she listens to the lyrics, she lets her body writhe to the slow beat of the original, her shirt riding up her midriff, her hair damp from the heat in the club. She feels as though she is one with every dancer there. She feels loved and that she has a purpose, and that purpose is to keep moving. She closes her eyes and imagines him, his locks half falling in his eyes, his trademark brown trench flowing behind him as he weaves his way through the dancers towards her.

 _…Rose…_ She thinks whispers through her mind, the way it did so many years ago, beckoning her to come to him, through hell and high water, and if she didn’t know better, she would believe he had really come back for her.

 _…Rose…_ she hears again, louder than the pulse she keeps in tune with, but she pays no heed to the heavy northern accent. She feels a firm hand on her side; she turns to see him.

“William,” she slurs, smiling and continuing to dance as he stands there. She got used to calling him William when he was in his other form; it was an easy constant reminder that he didn’t belong to her. It wasn’t until he regenerated that old emotions came flooding back to the surface, causing her to flee. She keeps swaying to the music, letting the song control her actions.

 _…It’s time to go home. Grace is worried sick about you. No one had any idea where you were, so she tried ca_ _—_

“Stop it,” she says aloud, narrowing her eyes at his unmoving mouth, “Jus’ get out of my head,” she adds, flapping her hand to ward him off and begins to back away. He’s ruining it, he’s here to ruin her fun, he wants her to stop dancing, and she’s not ready to go home. He catches her hand and pulls her stumbling back towards him.

“It’s too loud in here, you can’t hear me, so I’m making it easier,” he shouts to her.

“What?” she yells back; she smiles at him, knowing exactly what she’s doing. He rolls his eyes and pulls her tight against his body.

“I said, I’m tryin’ to respect your boundaries, but it’s very loud in here, so it’s easier to communicate through a telepathic link,” he repeats into her ear, his hot breath brushing against her cheek, his body firm against hers, and she fights the urge to shudder.

“So what, you can go rummagin’ around up there?” she accuses, slowly moving against him. It’s not a seduction technique. She just can’t help but keep herself moving with the swell of the room. The cost for her blissful fog, for how many tequila shots she’s consumed. He stiffens against the brushing contact, and she laughs inwardly at her Doctor, so typical of him.

“I bet you’ve forgotten what it feels like to dance, Doctor,” she murmurs, pulling away from him. Déjà vu hits her like a wave crashing against the shore, and she’s sucked back into a small room, the other dancers were gone, and she’s holding out a hand, mocking him, egging him on just so he’ll hold her close. Only one of her many scenes stretched out across the show she considers her life.

_…Rose, Grace is worried sick, she didn’t know where you went, she begged me to come find you, Elle is will be up soon…_

“I said, ENOUGH!” Rose shrieks at him, causing a few people to look their way.

“You’re not allowed. I didn’ give you permission,” she slowly and viciously spits out, pointing her finger at him. Her hair is half in her face, but she can still see his hurt, confusion and Rose feels like adding to his misery.

“Only _HE_ is allowed to do that,” she condescends as she stands up straight and pushes her hair back. She feels his hurt grow; she feels it radiate off him. Then, the Wolf growls and coils around her, that angry, hurt stare breaks through the fog in her head, and she realizes for a split second what she’s doing.

“Doctor, wait!” she says, grabbing his hand as he turns around. She pulls on the side as someone bumps into him dancing, and they are close again.

“I’ll make you a deal: one dance, then we can leave.”

“How is that a deal?” he says, suspiciously calm, and she can feel his discomfort as he watches everyone on the dance floor around them fuse together with the music, touching, kissing, sweating and moving.

“One dance, and then we can leave.” She says as he places his large hands on her hips and sways them to the song's beat. She feels his heartbeats mingling with the words singing through their veins. He just stands there as she runs her hands through her hair and above her head.

She turns to see him staring off into the distance, his entire body frozen to the spot he’s planted himself to.

“If you just gonna stand there, I don’t wanna look at your poutin’ face,” she snaps. “Whatever ya do, don’t enjoy yourself,” she adds sarcastically, turning away from him, ready to find a more suitable partner, but before she can get too far, he grasps her sides and pulls her in tightly to him, holding her close. She can feel his breath against her neck, and the fog lifts again once she realizes the scene she’s been creating is not only insanely selfish but incredibly stupid. She’s nineteen once more, trying to figure out the inner dialogue of a creature with so many walls up that she doubts she’s ever genuinely gotten through them and probably never will. She begins to pull away, but his hands keep her still against him.

“I thought you wanted a dance, Rose Tyler,” he quips into her ear, dangerously low, and she shudders at the rage dripping in his voice.

It’s then that she understands something she never had before. It’s something that overwhelms and panics her at the same time. She’s never been in control of these little situations, these small scenes she dares to make every so often and **_loves_** so much. It’s _him_. It’s always been him.

She feels naïve, a feeling that she hasn’t experienced in some time, a feeling she never experienced until him. She feels like a stupid child, and she’s angry as they firmly swaying together in time with the music. She was always just a distraction for him. After a time, she lost her ability to tell him he was wrong. By getting too close, she doomed herself to be a passenger to his antics, blinded by her feelings, and he was content to pretend. She feels the panic rise as she realizes that she never really knew him and that for the last ten years, she’s been pining for a man she doesn’t even know. A man that is the last of his kind.

She takes deep breaths and focuses on the lyrics, waiting with trepidation for the song to end, wondering what he’s going to do after. But just as it always does, the tequila and the music get the better of Rose. She begins moving in time with his body. Her hips sway back and forth, low and sweeping, as both hands rest on the tops of his thighs, and his hand is loosely wrapped around her mid-drift.

She can’t see him dance and doesn’t feel him dip low with her. Although it is the music guiding her, she doesn’t see him letting it control him, and even if it did, she doesn’t see him as the dipping kind. Her arms come up and lift her hair off her neck, the heat getting to her once more, but his hand is still steady at her side, the other she isn’t too sure where it is until it comes around and turns her chin towards him. As she does, he slowly moves his arm across the midriff of her shirt, taking her hand in his, and slowly turning her around. She’s mindful not to look into his eyes, careful to hold onto the last thread of sanity she has left. Biting her lip, she fans her hands across his chest as he holds her in a hug-like stance, slowly moving his body to the hidden beat she had been dancing to.

“You hear it too? The drums?” she murmurs against his beating hearts.

“I hear it all,” he tells her, his hands on the small of her back.

“Doctor?” she inquires as the music fades out, and another song begins to play. He pulls away from her, a dark expression on his face.

“Come on,” he says, holding up a small ticket that had been in her back pocket. “Let’s go get your jumper,” he smirks, seizing her hand and hauling her off the dance floor.

~***~

* * *

_He’s standing there in the midst of the main road, long and dusty, carriages moving past him, but he pays no attention to them. He’s looking for her, amongst the women in plain day-gowns and clacking heels, their parasols out to block out the infernal heat._

_“Knock it off, Billy-Jack,” he hears the Sheriff warn a drunken cowboy. The lawman has pulled the drunkard out of the saloon across the street where their carriage waits. Sighing, he looks on, happy they are off to the train station to take them to New York. That’s where they had left the TARDIS, then they’d be off to London 2006 to break the news to her mother. He searches the pocket in his vest and follows a chain to a watch on the end. It’s three minutes after seven, which means that she’s late. He winds it while he waits for her by the carriage door, eager to leave this godforsaken town._

_“I want to see Tombstone, go back to the Wild West, America, cowboys and such,” he cites, to no one in particular while mimicking her voice. “But Rose, I say, Rose, we can’t bring the TARDIS, and cowboys are over-rated, believe me.′ ’Let’s leave it here and take a train! Oh, please, Doctor! Cowboys are fun! It will be fun!’” He sighs, remembering her excitement as she jumped off the train when they had gotten there, her dark blue dress tripping her up for the first few days. How she had squealed happily when he showed her the carriage they’d be taking._

_He looks up, and there she is an absolute vision. She’s standing at the end of the street in a white dress with pink roses embroidered all over it, her parasol in her gloved hand. Barely any make-up mars her angelic features as she smiles lovingly at him and twirls her hip a touch, causing the dress to swish._

_“Now sheriff, don’t get yer johns in a knot, we were jus…” he hears to the side of him._

_He’s going to miss this moment, not this particular spot of hell, but how she looks when she blushes and with her hair up and out of her face. The way she shocks other women by her blunt friendliness, even her small complaints about her inability to breathe, how soft her skin was when he held her last night. She closes her umbrella and begins to walk hastily towards him, beaming. He returns the grin tenfold as his pace quickens to catch up with hers. She’s in his arms when the air rings loudly with the sound of a gun firing. Instinctively he turns her away from the altercation as she stiffens in his arms of fright. He looks over and can see the sheriff pistol whip the drunken oaf who had accidentally pulled the trigger._

_“Idiot!” he lashes out harshly, his adrenaline rush slowing, and he turns back to her, ready to calm her nerves._

_It’s just, as it turns out, that she’s not still stiff from the shock of it. Her porcelain face is paler than usual, and her beautiful green-hazel eyes are always full of fright._

_“Rose?” he asks, and she then begins to sag in his arms._

_“ROSE!” he screams, sinking to the ground with her. She is gurgling as her breathing is laboured. Her face is frozen in pain as she chokes out his name. He holds her head steady with blood-soaked fingers._

_“Doctor?” she sputters weakly._

_“Somebody get a doctor! Alcohol and a clean cloth!” he cries out hysterically._

_“Doctor, can’t you help miss?” a boy asks from the crowd gathering around them._

_His head shoots up. “Not without any tools,” he spits out dangerously, “Now go!” he yells, his voice scaring even him. It can’t end like this, not after everything they’ve been through, not after last night. “A clean kerchief, ANYONE?”_

_The crowd splits, and a few gentlemen offer white bits of cloth that he balls up in one hand and press to the wound in her back._

_“Rose, you have to hold on,” he says firmly._

_“You didn’t wanna come here. Why did I make us come here?” She quietly laments to him._

_“Don’t say that,” He tries to suppress the fear in his voice, tears falling far too freely from his eyes. “Milestones happened by coming here. It was a sound choice.”_

_“I’m so tired,” she murmurs to him, her breath coming in short gasps with periods of nothing but the movement of her eyes._

_“Sweetheart, listen to my voice. You have to keep your eyes open, okay? You’re in shock, but don’t be frightened because I’m right here. Doctor Mellows is on his way.” The boy has come back with rags, and he looks up at him with eyes that beg. The adolescent shakes his head no quietly before taking off in another direction in town._

_He looks down at Rose, her lips turning a shade of purple, blood lining her teeth. “We can finally get out of here and get back on the TARDIS and go. We’ll travel to see Jackie, and you can tell her the news. Then you can watch her beat me senseless, okay?” he begs her. He is lying to himself, hoping that he can change the outcome of what has happened by so firmly believing in that lie. So he lies, to himself and to her, as her life drains away from her._

_“She won’t,” Rose simpers._

_“Oh, yes, she will. She’ll tell me I stole you away, that we didn’t do it properly, that I’m a dirty old man, that I can’t have you. Would you like that, Rose? Would you like to go see your mum?” he asks her, pushing a loose tendril of hair out of her still unmarred angelic face, his bloody hand leaving a smear across her brow. She nods her head, her eyes still not focusing on him, and her breath coming in even more irregular intervals._

_“Of course you would,” he chuckles nervously as her head begins to fall into his shoulder._

_“She’ll just be upset we didn’t register. ‘All those gifts Rose, you coulda had all them gifts. The resale value alone.’” She asserts, and he laughs, but she begins coughing a bit towards the end._

_“I’m sorry I’m late,” She tells him._

_“Nah, only a few minutes. If I’ve learned to live with anything, it’s your tardiness,” He tells her._

_“What about you, the know-it-all?” she challenges._

_“Oi! I don’t know it all. I didn’t know how much I loved you.”_

_“Yes, you did,” she scoffs, “The Tardy TARDIS, it sounds like a restaurant.”_

_“You know, I’m starting to not feel it,” she murmurs against his throat, her own voice holding surprise and possible hope._

_“Course you can’t, silly,” he tells her, squeezing her close and rocking her. “If you would only listen to me, but I guess that’s never going to happen, is it?”_

_But she doesn’t reply._

_“Rose?” he asks and pulls his head back to look down at his new bride. Her eyes are vacant and partially closed, her pink lips slack, her life all over his arms and the street._

_“NO!” he cries. “No… no…“a broken voice that doesn’t sound like his cries out weakly while tears fall freely down his face, his arm wet with her blood._

He startles awake, shirt soaked, his tie loose around his neck with Martha standing over him looking somewhat concerned.

“Doctor?” she asks, both hands placed on his forearms, trying to contain him to the chair he fell asleep in.

“Rose,” he gasps, frantic still from the realistic illusion.

“Doctor, it was just a dream,” she says, and he closes his eyes and puts his head in his hands. It wasn’t a dream, though. It was just another alternate ending their relationship that never really was. It’s getting to a point where he doesn’t know what has really happened between him and the real Rose, and what has happened in alternate worlds and dreams, and still, he knows that there’s something wrong with the information, something tampered or off. He’s growing tired of it.

“Martha,” he answers coldly. If Martha hadn’t come, could he have revived her? Would he have died from the agony in his hearts right there? Would he have been stuck there, had to have taken her broken body back to her mother? From what he had said and remembered, the TARDIS was too far away, they wouldn’t have had enough time, he would have had to leave Rose’s body there. He feels sick to his stomach.

“Yes?” she asks, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. She wouldn’t have come here unless she really needed him or absolutely had to. He’s made it clear to her that he wanted to be left alone. Without ever voicing it, he’s used this room as a private study in the past. Still, he has no time to deal with her or anyone right now. He’s right angry and isn’t going to calm down till he’s good and ready.

“Please, leave me be for a minute.” It’s a request he rarely asks for as long as he can remember. It’s always him desiring company of some kind or another she seems taken back and begins to leave before turning to him and saying, “Romana.”

“What about her?” he asks, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but he already knows, and although he wishes to refuse Martha, wants to tell her to go tell Romana to sod off, to go back to where she came from, to leave him the bloody hell alone, he already knows that if he refuses her, that Martha is not going to know how to deal with her.

“Here, in the console room,” she answers.


	14. Ceremonial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose's telepathic wave message that she sent across stars and universes finally catches up to the Doctor.

Sighing, the Doctor gets up and follows Martha out, adjusting his tie in the process.

“How long?” he asks somewhat tersely as he slips on his jacket. He wishes he had time to change out of his dishevelled appearance. His shirt still clinging to his back, a chill at the base of his spine. How many times was he going to watch the people he loved die? How many times was he going to watch her die? To know that these dreams were universal truths, floating through the space-time continuum.

“A few minutes,” Martha returns, before falling behind him and ducking into her room. The TARDIS shudders and groans, her lights flickering as they begin storming down the hall corridor to the console room. He walks in on Romana playing with dials and buttons.

“I like what you’ve done to her, it’s very… she’s very… um,” she begins and watches as she sighs and smiles, slapping her hands to her sides.

“Why are you here?” he asks her, void of all emotion.

“I believe I already informed you, we got an alert from the time agency saying we had a level nine situation on our hands.”

“No, Romana, not on Earth. Why are you in my TARDIS?”

“Oh,” she says, not at all startled by the blatant question. “Well, I wanted to get acquainted with the ship I’ll be piloting to the source,” she states matter-of-factly.

“How dare you,” he decries, voice dangerously low, slowly advancing on her position, but Romana just stands her ground.

“How dare I what?” she asks him, puzzled by his temper.

“How dare you come in here, after what you told me earlier and think you can get away with what you just said.”

She shakes her head sadly, “I told you that the last of our fleet of TARDISes died upon re-entry into this universe. It is my right as a higher ranking officer to commandeer-”

“You can stuff your ranking for all I care!” he interrupts. He walks around the console angrily, randomly pulling levers and knobs, releasing all frustration into his ship. Romana sighs and watches him, intently waiting for her opportunity.

“Look, do not think that I am not sympathetic for your loss. I too, have lost someone I cared for deeply, which makes this situation even harder. And I can forgive your misconduct about me pulling rank. Again it will appear hypocritical of me, knowing that I have not always followed protocol since becoming President, so there is that. But you have to know that I cannot let a code nine telepathic alert go un-enforced. You must know how dangerous this situation is.”

“Rose is just an innocent! She probably had no idea what she was doing when it happened.”

“Then that’s even worse. It’s the most dangerous kind of telepathy of all. With that kind of power, she could accidentally hurt and possibly kill millions of species,” Romana shoots back. “We must reach and stop her.”

“Who are you to police a universe you hardly know?”

“Who are you to talk?”

“You cannot have my TARDIS.” His brow furrowed at her, and he now is putting away the tools that scatter the console floor. He doesn’t want to make it any easier for her to take the TARDIS from him.

“Your TARDIS? That’s amusing since you seem to forget that I know more about you than you think. If you’re anything like your counterpart, and you are, _believe_ me, I doubt you really want to challenge me on ownership of this ship-”

“She became mine and mine alone when I became the only one left who could fly her,” he interjects.

“She became yours and yours alone when you killed our ENTIRE race!”

He goes mute, numbness sweeping over his body, his rage an endlessly flowing river.

“Don’t take it too personally, Doctor,” she starts patronizingly. “I read some of the Torchwood reports, many written by the Captain himself. The agreed-upon conclusion of all documentation is that you had no other choice. Otherwise, we would be bringing you to face judgement, not your little human.”

“My Romana would never do this,” he says, hostility seeping into every word.

“I doubt she was ever yours,” she snaps back. “Just as I doubt she would not do what is ethical, or in the best interests of all of space and time.” They stare at each other for a long moment, dark brown eyes boring a hole into steel blue. “Come now, Doctor,” she says. “Let us not lie to each other.”

“You’re one to talk. You have Jack convinced you are here to help, not destroy one of the people he cares more about than himself,” he snorts, sitting down, deflated into the worn chair in front of the console.

“Jack is a brave man. A very brave human, although I can sense sometimes, you have your doubts. With help, he could recover those two years of memories he is missing.” She surmises, watching her old friend with curious eyes.

“Is that what you promised him? Did he blindly sell you a life for two years of his own that would be better kept buried?” he urges, sitting tensely on the edge of his seat.

“You never told him, did you? Why is that?” she asks him, her voice again devoid of emotion.

“Because it was better left unsaid; less pain and sorrow for him and for everyone that way. It’s not like I am allowed to go back and fix it. To repair the damage that was done. I assume you didn’t tell him that we can see those forgotten memories easily? Otherwise, he would have hated me, even more, when we reunited,” he says.

His shoulders are collapsing back into the seat’s cushions. He rubs the bridge of his nose. His head is throbbing with a headache that feels like it’s been building for weeks. Romana watches him intently and sighs before going and sitting beside him.

“No, I am not a cruel being. However, he is immortal now, a quirky trait he picked up after your Rose brought him back by taking in the time vortex, and I have promised to help rid him of it. Just _another_ example of how much power this innocent you adore, wields.”

“That was when the time vortex was still within her; she is completely normal now. You’re bringing me back to a companion I told I would never see again, to send her to her doom,” he replies sternly.

“You act as though everything is black and white, from one extreme to the other when it was _you_ who taught me the difference. For all you know, it is not this girl you call Rose at all. Maybe it is. In fact, maybe she has a legitimate reason for sending out a wavelength of that magnitude.”

He laughs bitterly at her, resting his arms against his knees and slouching forward, folding his hands in front of him. He shakes his head and looks away from her confused gaze. “Why do I feel you’ve been practicing that speech for a while?”

Legs crossed, she looks at him sadly behind a serene, controlled visage.

“Doctor?” Martha’s voice rings out from the entrance. They look up and see her leaning against the wall. Her worried and confused look and knows right away what is wrong.

“Romana, Martha is a new telepath. You may want to explain to her the intricate rules and guidelines of her talents according to Time Lord law-”

“No, Doctor, not that,” Martha interrupts, trying to push herself away from the frame.

“What Romana said... just got the communication...” she murmurs weakly, stumbling towards him and falling into his arms.

“Do you see? See now, the damage?” Romana says, an edge of frustration in her voice.

“Shut up!” he barks at her, holding Martha in his arms, blood dripping from her nose. She has sick on her shirt, but he still holds her close.

“Tell me, whatever you need,” he promises.

“She’s scared, terrified, like a trapped animal.” Martha whispers, “She doesn’t mean to lash out, but she will if she has to, and if she does, it won’t be pleasant. So she did the only thing she could think of, she reached out to Gallifrey. She didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t know what she was doing. Something big is happening… something terrible caused this reaction. How could you not feel it? Feel her pain, her suffering? How could you not feel how scared she was?”

“You must have been blocking very strongly,” Romana pipes in.

“Romana, stop-”

“Hmm, let us see, in a universe where you left an ex-companion, someone who knows of Gallifrey is sending out a deadly telepathic wave, signalling for help. No, it couldn’t possibly be this Rose child.”

“Romana, I swear, you need to stop talking right now,” he tells her in a solemn tone before looking down at Martha.

“May I take a peek?” he asks the girl, still half lying in his arms. She blinks and straightens up slowly.

It’s that feeling again like he’s on stage, and an old movie projector is projecting images onto him. All the while, he’s trying to learn how to control the illusion or try to figure out what he needs to see out of them. Images of Martha with her brother the last time they went to visit, and the look he received from that very brother. Martha is sliding down a hill on a toboggan as a young child.

“Focus,” he whispers, trying to concentrate, so they can go deeper. It feels like a peg that’s too big to go into a hole. All colour is a little pale, all images a little fuzzy-that is, until it all clicks, then he feels like he’s falling headfirst. It’s of Rose, standing amongst the ruins of a charred, burnt-out room. Jackie is pregnant on the floor, staring at Rose in awe. It flickers back to a dreary dark place outlined in blue shadows and padded walls. Her form stands resilient against dual backdrops as he keeps falling towards her. She is still against the raging fires and the cool tones of insanity. He feels himself falling to the floor of the memory as the background flickers faster and faster until he jars suddenly, stopping in front of her. All he can hear is the sound of her heartbeat; her eyes glow amber.

_They’re coming…_

**_We are Rose, just hol-_ **

_Not you… them…_

**_Who, Rose?_ **

_Hurry… what do I do?_

It’s as if his mind is leaking out his ears. He can’t scream above the sound of four hearts beating raucously, two he can account for, one other being Rose’s and the fourth he does not know. He sees Gallifrey in the reflection of Rose’s eyes, and the hearts stop, all skipping a beat, before beating again in unison.

“Thank you.” Two words, in two beats by four loud drums.

Then he’s speeding backwards out of the room faster than he got there.

“I bring life,” he hears her whisper through him as he’s forced violently into his own body and falls to his knees. His head feels ripped in two. Sweat pours down his brow as he coughs up blood, bright red. The beating in his chest is frantic like the heart of a bird, but it beats two strong words, two words that he knows but cannot bring himself to say, two small and simple words that describe a cacophony of catastrophic events that forever changed the history of the universe.

“Doctor?” he hears Romana calling out to him.

“Time War,” he states hoarsely before he passes out.

~***~

* * *

Rose walks down the aisle, smiling nervously in a pink gown with a sash and black embroidery. For all her cynicism and pessimism, she just cannot for the life of her think a single cruel thought about Chantelle’s big day. She sees Elle standing at the end of the walkway, a smile on her young and beautiful face. Grace is standing behind her, looking so much like her proper birth mother that it brings tears to Rose’s eyes.

Her head is killing her from her fancy up-do, her shoes are painful and are way too high for average pace, but she smiles. She reaches the pews' end, and she falls in line opposite Erik and his slightly attractive best-man. She flushes somewhat at the best man’s kind smile as he gazes at her. Soon, the music alters, and everyone stands. All eyes turn to the back of the church, to Chantelle. That is, all except for a pair in the second row. A pair so intense that she feels her breath hitch in her throat as her smile falters while trying to concentrate on Chantelle. She tries to focus on little things, the curve of Chantelle’s bodice, the shine to her beautiful chestnut updo, her sweet and delicate smile. As Chantelle comes closer, she sees him in her peripheral vision. Eyes blue and unfathomably deep, face calm and guarded as he holds his son in his lap. Their eyes lock, and she feels panicked, like all the oxygen in the room is leaving her lungs until she feels a hand on her shoulder, and a soft voice asks, “Are you alright?”

It is Grace’s concerned tone that stabilizes her.

“Yeah, weddings,” Rose whispers, smiling shakily. Grace gently smiles at her, then looks out to her husband and shakes her head slightly. Slowly, both women turn back to the minister, who is talking about love _—_ forever, eternal _—_ and Rose closes her eyes.

_They sit in front of the tree, with Elle, almost a year old, in her mother’s lap. Pete is standing proud in front of the massive monstrosity, doting on all three women. It started when Rose awoke from her coma: Pete instantly became protective of Rose and delight in having a family._

_“That’s one present for Jacks, now one for my girls!” he says, digging around the bottom of the pile._

_“Look at you beaming away like you’re Father Christmas,” Jackie says, laughing at his evident excitement._

_“Red bicycle when I was twelve,” Rose whispers._

_Jackie and Pete stare at her blankly, and she smiles sadly._

_“Sorry, uh… just a bit of déjà vu,” Rose tells them, and they nod in silent understanding. Pete hands her a box, and she slowly unravels the paper._

_She realizes she’s been using that excuse a lot lately. She thinks of his daft ears and his blue eyes. She thinks of his brilliant smile and subtle quips as she pulls the snow globe out of the box. She looks into the ball's depth, thinking about the safety of the little caricatures within it._

_“Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once, everybody lives!”_

She feels his eyes still planted directly on her back, and her spine tingles from the sensation.

She is trying to focus on the minister and the introductions. She is telling herself that he was focusing on Grace, and she was deluding herself. She felt her insides twist at how awful this whole situation was beginning to turn out.

“Marriage is like an apple seed growing in the fertile soil that is love. With a little care and guidance, it can grow and eventually blossom.”

_They sit there in silence on the roof of her mum’s flat, staring up at the stars. Once Rose remembers that Mickey thought she was lost forever, she sheepishly suggested maybe going back and telling him that she wasn’t was a good idea. It’s the third time now that she’s been home with this version of him, and she finds it amusing how they’ve settled into a comfortable routine. After all, last time, it was just a quick trip off to the museum and off they were to Rome. She thinks of the picture of her statue taped to her mum’s cupboards and all the events that have transpired over the last few days._

_“You’re not still mad. I spent six months training with Michelangelo, are you?” He asks her, breaking his unusually long silence._

_“Oi! First, it was a few months, only a few Rose.’ Now yer tellin’ me it was six?”_

_He smiles slowly, not even apologetic, and something about it breaks her, causing her to reflect the same slow and tender grin._

_“Though I suppose I should be thankful it only took you six months instead of six years.”_

_“I’m a fast learner,” he tells her._

_“Mmmm, sure thing Pygmalion.” She watches his mouth move and how no steam escapes him when he talks to her on this freezing night. She shakes her head, not surprised; she’s always learning new things._

_“What?” he asks her, noticing her bemused look._

_“Nothin’. It’s just your breath,” she says, impulsively putting her fingers on his mouth. “It doesn’t steam in the cold.”_

_His deep dark eyes bore through hers and past an emotional wall she didn’t even realize she had built. His lips under her fingers are moist, soft, and cool to the touch, as though she were on fire. It’s then that she has an epiphany. The Doctor has changed, and so has she, but it’s evident that some things haven’t. She had seen that look, oh so intense before. She had seen that gaze from blue eyes before. She had felt his hand cold under hears on woman’s wept as he let her use his jacket. But her first would have never let her hold her fingers to his lips this long. She would never have felt brave enough to be welcome to do so, and she would never have let her breath catch in her throat so apparent in front of him, though she’s felt this dizzying flutter before. Her lips are dry, but she’s careful not to wet them_ _—_

_She doesn’t know what would happen then._

_She wants to ask him the question that has been plaguing her for hours, for minutes, seconds; she wants to know if that’s how he really sees her. The statue was flawless, ethereal in beauty. If she hadn’t known it was herself, she would have believed her to really be the goddess, Fortuna. Something goes fuzzy as she gazes intently at him, and she feels as though she may be daydreaming. She sees him wrap his hand around her head, pulling her towards his lips and pressing her against his chest as he kisses her passionately, her hands through his hair, his through hers, and then she’s shut out, as though a door slams in her face and she is almost dizzy from how fast it all happened._

_“But, you didn’t.” She hears herself say to him._

_“Should I have? Would it had many any of this any easier?”_

_She shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog and realizes her hand still lingers on the cold lips of the man in front of her. Blushing, she removes her hand. She feels him grab her wrist, causing her to turn her head back and look at him cautiously. Slowly he slips his fingers through hers, and they stare off into the distance._

_“You talk like it was some extraordinary burden you bear alone. That you shielded me from more pain when we did was deny each other what we both desired. We were already at a point where losing each other was going to cause immeasurable pain. It would have been comforting to experience an immeasurable pleasure.”_

_He seems to squirm at the blunt statements she’s making, but she feels no remorse speaking them. The Wolf and something else, something deep within her, have been pressing her to tell him these truths._

_“We’re coming.” He tells her as he squeezes her hand._

_“I know.” She responds. “The others do too.”_

The reverend’s words wake her out of her reverie. “Marriage is a serious commitment for a man and a woman to enter into together. It’s rarely seen that way anymore, seen for what it means. Marriage is eternal, it is sacred, it is meant for unconditional love…”

She remembers to blink. Blink back tears and memories, try to engage her brain at the moment instead of letting her minds wander. She tries to focus on Erik, the best man behind him, but that friendly smile just makes her heart hurt.

_“Why are you here, mother?” Rose asks as her pumps clack the entire way along the hardwood floors to reach the mini-bar she’s set up by the floor to sky windows in her flat. Later, she will walk up the carpeted staircase to her bathroom, where she will take a long bath until her skin goes pruny, and she is forced to get out. Then she will climb into her king-size bed, alone. All the decadence in the world can’t change how weary she always feels._

_“I hate that you call me that only when your mad, love.” Jackie sighs._

_“Then don’t get me mad by breakin’ into my flat,” the blonde retorts as she pours herself a gin, straight. She looks out the window. It’s dark now, and when she wakes up to go to work tomorrow, it will be dark again. She can’t remember the last time she has been out in the sun when she has just gone outside for the pleasure of being outdoors._

_“Well, I had to! I was terrified, you not answerin’ me rings, avoiding your dad at work. Jake and Mickey told me you refuse to even talk to ‘em, that ya been sendin’ ‘em memos through your secretary. I wouldn’t have believed it if your dad hadn’t said you’ve been doin’ the same to him.”_

_“And why should I talk to any of you!?” she shouts, finally blowing up on her mother, startling the woman who stands in her living area. Then, more carefully, she adds, “After that little party, how can I?” as she walks to the kitchen and slams the half-full glass down on the counter._

_“We were, are… concerned,” Jackie tells her._

_“So, you plan an intervention?”_

_“It wasn’t meant ta_ _—_ _” Jackie starts then stops sighing. “Look, maybe doin’ it that way wasn’t fair.”_

_“Damn right, it wasn’t fair; you guys wouldn’t let me get a word in edge-wise,” Rose informs her._

_“But just because it wasn’t fair,” Jackie states as if she hasn’t heard what Rose just said, “doesn’t mean we don’t care.”_

_“Care,” Rose laughs bitterly, sipping her gin, “Now that’s a laugh.”_

_“Now you’re not bein’ fair, Rose,” Jackie says, “Besides, what kind of example are you setting for your god-daughter?”_

_“SHE IS MY SISTER!” Rose screams, waving her arms around behind the counter. “She is my sister, and your my mum, and Pete’s not my real dad, okay? She’s not my cousin, I’m not your niece or friend; you are not my aunt. You are my MOTHER. and I AM one of your daughters.” Tears fall down her cheeks, and she sniffles them back, looking down at the marble countertop. “I can’t get how you can go from calling Pete, my father, to Elle, my God-daughter, and sister, and cousin, back and forth. It’s all so confusing. If you really cared about my depression, maybe we should work out some other lies we are covering up.”_

_“It’s not just the depression, Rose,” Jackie cries, walking closer towards the counter._

_“That’s what I mean, mum! How you refuse to talk about it, the past and expect me to forget. So I try, and now I’m a horrible person because I drink here and there.”_

_“It’s not the just the drinkin’, Rose, it’s how despondent you have become!” Jackie fired back, finally saying the unmentionable. They both stand there in silence, Rose behind the kitchen counter, looking out at her mother on the other side._

_“I hate that man for what he did to you.” Jackie murmurs._

_“What did you say?” Rose questions precariously low, looking up from the counter._

_“You heard me,” Jackie says carefully. “He had you so wrapped up tha’ you don’t even know up from down these days.”_

_“That_ **_man_** _,” Rose spits out slowly to her mother, “Is the reason for those diamonds around your neck and for Elle’s existence and your unbridled happiness, Mother. Without that_ **_man_** _, you would have been killed by plastic shop dummies, or the Slitheen, or Daleks or even Cybermen! He SAVED this crummy little world, and he saved our crummy little world, and he did it with no thanks from you or from anyone!” The last word comes out mostly a sobbed before she sighs profoundly and regains her composure._

_“He saved two universes but for what?” Jackie asks. “He destroyed you.”_

_“No, you did,” Rose tells her matter-of-factly, without looking up from the tears that have fallen onto the cold white countertop._

_“What?” Jackie asks, startled._

_Rose looks up to the older woman, gazing at her, drinking her in. Her hair is done up, piled on the top of her head in some intricate design, something that she never had the time to do, even when she was a hairdresser. There are diamonds around her throat, but these ones are more ostentatious than usual, and Rose believes that after this little discussion, her mother must be going to a benefit or some state dinner, something that she and Pete have been doing a lot lately to boost his standing in the party. There is a silence between them, both staring at each other for an eternity before Rose begins again. “I was happy, I was with him, and you sent Pete back after me-”_

_“Pete saved you! How dare y-”_

_“You didn’t know that. There was no way you could have,” she interrupts, worryingly calm. “All you knew was that the Doctor and I would be sucking the Daleks and Cybermen into the void. So you risked Pete’s life, and for what? Did you know he appeared right in front of the void?”_

_“Stop it.”_

_“A few seconds earlier, a few seconds later, a few centimetres left or right would have been useless, or fatal. You already lost me, knew I’d be safe with the Doctor, but you risked him to get me back.”_

_“I said, stop it, he saved you!” Jackie says, backing away as Rose slowly advances on her, coming around from behind the counter, walking towards the older woman._

_“Yeah, but if he never came, you would have never known, you would have assumed I was travellin’ still, and I would have been dead.”_

_“STOP IT!” Jackie screams as Rose finally reaches her_

_“...Which would have been better than here.”_

_She hears the slap before she feels its sting in her cheek. She looks up at a helpless Jackie through tear-filled eyes._

_“You wonder why we worry,” Jackie yells through sobs, “The Rose I used ta know, the Rose he was in love with, she never would have rather been dead than alive, the Rose he loved, was full of life!”_

_“Now, you stop it!” Rose says through hiccupping sobs, but it was too late. She had pushed Jackie to the brink, tears streamed down a still flawlessly made-up face._

_“How is this living, mum? I mean, even moving on from him, how do you move on from a life like that. But I try. I try every single day. I focus on my career, my family. I push him from my mind. I eternally balance the two other entities that, for lack of a better word, share my body and fight me for dominance every day, and I am.” She pauses to think about how she wants to proceed, “so tired. So sometimes,” Rose shrugs, “I need a break. And then there’s Madame Jaqueline Tyler.” She stretches her arm out towards her mother. “The life you have always wanted. The second chance, with a second little girl with your first husband. That you never got over. Think about that, mum. Think about how I finally comprehended that if my father hadn’t died. I would have had a happier, healthier, more involved mum. But instead, I get to watch from the outside and am condemned for how poor a job I’m doing.”_

_“I actually thought Mickey’s suggestion of a hypnotherapist was a bit over the top, that if I just talked to you, you would come around. But apparently, I was wrong. You are the most selfish and yet giving girl I’ve ever met, and when you’re ready to admit you have a problem, give me a call.”_

_Picking up her coat, Jackie storms out of the flat, slamming the front door behind her as Rose slides down to the floor, crying as she brings her had to cover her mouth. That’s when she sees it, really noticing it for the first time. The snow globe that her father bought her two Christmas’ ago, sitting on one of her end tables, collecting dust. She grabs it, shaking it to see the little people look on in wonder as the snow comes softly and slowly tumbling downwards, as though time moves on slower for them, more peaceful. She feels the envy build within her heart as she slams the globe to the floor, pieces scattering everywhere._

“Rose, it’s time to sign the register,” Grace whispers to her, once again touching her shoulder lightly to get Rose’s attention. Silent tears fall down her cheeks as she smiles as brightly as she can. She and Chantelle make eye contact, both teary-eyed as they move to the table where the paper lies. She slowly signs where she is told, not even reading the words; for a split second, she wonders if this was all an elaborate ploy to get her to sign her life away, and she has to bite her lip not to laugh hysterically.

Shakily she signs the paper, her vision blurry. Once finished, she goes back to her place in the line, and her sister squeezes her hand comfortingly. Smiling down on her, she squeezes back and looks up and sees Erik’s best man smiling at her again. It’s sweet and gentle, like he finds her amusing but not in a cruel way, and she blushes as she wipes the tears from her eyes and looks away from him. She refuses to look at William, refuses to continue this trip down memory lane, so she focuses on the floor. She hears the minister’s last words ring out, and slowly Erik and Chantelle begin to walk up the aisle.

She finally looks up to find the best man offering his arm to her, a gesture she forgot was mandatory for them to walk out of the church. Remembering, she laughs and shakes her head, placing her arm in his and walking up the aisle as Grace takes the other groomsmen’s arm and behind them.

~***~

* * *

_Two beats._   
_Two words_ _—_   
_Time war._   
_Time war._   
_Save us_ _—_   
_Time war._   
_My Doctor…_

He wakes from a dreamless slumber, something he hasn’t had in a relatively long time. As he opens his eyes to darkness, it feels as though someone dropped an axe on it several times, causing searing pains in several strips. His stomach lurches, but there’s nothing to rid itself of, so instead, he lies there, ever so still, trying to relax the muscles in his body.

It’s then he feels a cool cloth against his head, wiping sweat and perhaps vomit away, but he cannot see who is caring for him.

“Relax, the blindness is temporary,” Romana tells him. “Just a side effect of the initial broadcast.”

Again, a cold cloth at the corner of his mouth, soft hands stroking wet hair out of his face, cool against the burn in his cheeks. “It should only last a few more hours, then we can start planning for our journey.”

He wants to get up and fight off her kindness, but he’s too weak and resorts to accepting her calming efforts and reassuring words.

“Imagine Doctor, imagine what you feel happening to every man, woman and child of a species. Pandemonium occurs, revolts, rebellion, rioting. Not only an entire world but also galaxies, universes of course, and those closest to the blast will always be affected more. By the time the message reached us, it was diluted. Most people felt weary like they had the human’s common influenza. But you see first hand the damage.”

“Time war,” he rasps, two swords sticking out in his mind more than the picture of Rose’s sad ethereal face.

“Yes, you said that. If that be the case, then I can surely grant pardon to the girl on-site, and there will be no need to bring her back to Gallifrey for a hearing. Something I presume that would make you very happy.”

He gasps for air as he tries to get up. “She’s in a constant state of terror, she’s all alone with no one there, but there’s something else. She has immense power, god-like even,” he says, then laughs bitterly. “A god-like girl, and she sits there and waits for me.” And he begins to cough.

“Shh, I’m sure she’ll be alright till we get there. Until then, you need rest.” Romana says, entwining her own fingers through his.

“She keeps reaching out for me, and I couldn’t hold her, couldn’t get through to her, tell her we will make it better. She needs me.”

“Oh, for all the time in the world, is it possible for you to stop talking about her for more than three minutes? I feel sorry for your new companion,” Romana says bitingly, wrenching her hand away.

There is silence, and he feels awkward, wondering what is wrong with the woman he knows so well yet barely knows at all. He may be an alien, but he’s still a male and knows that many traits travel from species to species. He knows he’s offended her, but he has no idea why.

“What’s wrong? Why don’t you like talking about Rose so much?” he blatantly asks her, reaching out for her hand.

“I just… I do not understand your fascination with her; a child, a human child who before now you had no idea had any special or interesting qualities.”

“That’s not true. You’ve never met her,” he interjects.

“I never understood your fascination with humans,” she says, finally taking his hand in hers, and it’s gentle, caring even, and he feels her warmth through her skin sink into his. He feels something he knows he shouldn’t, something she’s been hiding.

“You never did say… how you and the Doctor knew each other from your universe, or even _where_ he is,” he says, prodding at the tender spot of her heart, opening her up like a flower.

“He… We were when I said I didn’t follow all protocol.” She stutters, her finger tracing patterns on his palm before she sighs, and there is a long silence between them. It’s when he gives up on the idea of her letting him in that she begins again. “In our universe, the looms broke down. After years of trying to perfect a species and trying to repress emotion from our day-to-day living, we were forced to come to terms with what we were. We relearned how to love, how to make love. Rassilion perpetuated the curse, and the Houses supported him to keep breading amongst the lesser families from happening. Also, what better way to market loom-based offspring to the masses. Narrowing down faults along the bloodline, trying to speed up the process of evolving as a species. Rasillion knew his fellow Time Lords too well. He knew that they would never question or doubt his word and that they’d all feel so highly of themselves that they would never even bother trying. It’s funny, they always mocked you for being a child born of love, and here they were, creating their own.” She says, finally dropping his hand to the bed.

“Just so we are clear, I loved the Doctor, with all my hearts. I offered him everything I had and more, and I thought he loved me. But it wasn’t enough. I had my duties to our people and government, and you were, are, will always be, a selfish bastard who left me.”

“But I’m not him.”

“Does it matter?”

He feels her anger and frustration towards him and doesn’t blame her. It sounds like something he would do no matter how much he loved her or anyone else. He’ll leaves because it’s instinctive to him. He left Gallifrey, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says, reaching for her hand. His dark vision becomes blurry, already starting to improve.

“I truly am, but you need to know, no matter what, he did love you,” he says, knowing it to be the truth. He had loved Romana once. He knows he would have loved her here as well.

“Yes, well, you’re not him, are you? You belong to someone else. Though you have to concede not only my resentment but my intrigue,” she says rather clinically again.

“I can’t explain it to you, and I don’t have any aim to try too because, to be frank, I can’t even explain it to myself some days. But what I do grasp, what I can clarify, is very plain. She holds a piece of my soul, and I, a piece of hers. Quite literally, actually. When she opened the TARDIS’ heart, I had to remove the time vortex from her, and amid everything and nothing, all of time and all of space, pieces became jumbled up, and we lost a tiny part of ourselves to each other. I never told her. I didn’t want her to read too much into it, think it meant anything.”

“But it does,” Romana says, her face becoming more and more apparent.

“It does,” he says, shaking the fog from his brain, and the room comes into focus. He views her sitting on the edge of the bed, her cheeks stained with tears, no longer crying, her smiling small and sincere, her hand in his.

“Come on,” she says, standing up and smoothing down her skirt. “Let’s go and save your, well… whatever you want to call her.”

“Rose,” he says and stands up beside her, taking her hand in his and pulling her towards the doors.


	15. Epiphanies

_“William, if I’m going to have to take care of Peter when he arrives… I’m going to have to know how to keep him healthy,” Rose says, as they stand there in her new office in the new Torchwood building. She’s wrapped her arms around herself before walking towards her desk._

_“Time Lords rarely have health problems, Rose, no need to worry.”_

_“Look. You’re going to have to deal with this sooner or later. Ever since you regenerated, you’ve been putting off our lessons. Why is that?” As she sits, she watches his face contort the way it used to when she irritated him, sending waves of irritation up her spine. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets as he huffs._

_“Why does everything have to be on **your** time? The world revolves around Rose Tyler: Defender of the Earth—”_

_“Don’t.”_

_He looks at her with guilt-laden eyes and nods his head in understanding. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, she knows that, but it didn’t stop it from happening. To say their relationship has suffered strain since the regeneration would be an understatement at best. She has now lost THREE of them, and the last one was one of her very best friends. Platonic. Someone she could trust with her life, yes, but also only had eyes for his wife. Who was her other closest friend since the death of her family? Their partnership, the way they fit together as a puzzle had worked, for everyone._

_Now, this. This was beginning to feel like she was being punished. Sighing, she rubs her eyes and sigs down at her desk._

_“Look, you explained his growth rate to me, what to expect, three times as slow for twenty-five years, slows right down to ten times for around fifty years, then normalizes out at around 3.75 times—”_

_“Rose, please. Just… stop.” he firmly states, holding one hand up at her. She watches as his jaw clenches._

_And she does, she does because she witnesses how it’s affecting him. “Look, I promise I’ll begin again… soon even… just, give me time.”_

_“Okay.” She squirms in her seat as she watches him open her office door. He looks like he’s gone before she sees his arm stop the motion of it closing, and he pops his head back in. His piercing blue eyes finding hers across the room._

_“And promise me not to talk too much about it with Grace. She’s happy right now. I don’t know how long that’s going to last.”_

_“Fine.”_

~***~

* * *

Rose watches as wedding guests’ twirl and glide across the dance floor, holding each other in close embraces, slowly moving in unison, as she sits leaning back in the chair she’s claimed near the back of the hall, far away from the bridal table. Her legs crossed, her shoes on the floor in front of her.

Grace and William swirl together in a dancer’s embrace. The latter in a well-fitted three-piece suit, colours matching the flowing chiffon dress that Grace is wrapped in.

_“I thought you wanted a dance, Rose Tyler.”_

Rose trembles at the thought of his touch, tiny shivers running down her spine as she takes a sip of the champagne as she watches as Elle carries around the infant Peter, dancing with him and giggling. Elle’s pink dress twirls with every swish she makes, the crinoline peeking out from underneath, as her light red hair falls over his own brown downy head.

“Hey,” she hears behind her. Slowly she turns to see Erik’s best man standing there, a bottle of beer in his hand, a lopsided grin on his face. Turning back to watch Elle and Peter, she wonders how things would have turned out if Elle didn’t grow up much, much faster than her younger partner. Would they have danced together or around each other— the latter being a type of dance she is famous for.

“Westerners have this barbaric ritual, where when loud music is playing, they make jerking motions with their bodies to express enjoyment,” he says with a Scottish accent as he sits down in the chair beside her. Rose gawks at him incredulously, ready to express annoyance at his interruption of her thoughts. She looks at him, sitting there, smiling sheepishly, brown eyes waiting for her reaction, and finds herself smiling back.

“Is that a smile, I see?” There’s a hint of deference in his voice, but mostly curiosity.

“No,” she replies, looking away from him and glowing as she sips her champagne, a few brown curls brushing against the crystal.

“Yes, it was! It was a definite smile.” He grins as he scoots the chair closer to her and leaning forward, trying to engage her attention.

“So that’s all I am? A challenge? You think you’re charming?” She makes it a trial, precarious at best, but still unambiguous.

“Charming? No… no, I don’t dare think I’m charming.” He pauses for a moment to sip his beer before he puts it down and leans his handsome face on his hands, staring at her with brown eyes.

She thinks the conversation is over when he starts again, “Maybe charismatic, enigmatic, intelligent…”

“A smart ass…”

“That too,” he chuckles, and she finds herself laughing along.

“My name’s Tom,” he holds out his hand to shake hers.

“Rose,” she responds after carefully placing her hand on his.

“I know.”

He grips her palm gently, staring at her behind those dark eyes. Eyes that remind her of someone else, someone else whose warmth could set her toes tingling.

“But, I didn’t make an ass of myself so that I could bore you details about me,” he says. “I did it because I wanted to know if you wanted to dance.”

“I don’t dance on the first date,” she tells him, smiling in a way she hasn’t in years, licking her teeth. They both beam at each other before their hands break contact before sipping their own drinks.

“I didn’t realize this was a date,” he replies, gawking at her.

“Sure it is. Dinner… drinks, a good show.” She nods towards the many people howling and singing on the dance floor in front of them.

“Now, I’m intrigued to ken what she does on the first date.” And it’s with that gravity in his voice that catches her attention. She cannot tell whether she finds him immensely irritating or attractive. Or maybe they go hand in hand for her, and that scares her all the more. She stares fondly out at William, who dances with Elle as Grace feeds their son.

“Wee one, your daughter?” he inquires.

“Sister. Cousin… God-daughter.”

“That’s a confusing mess.”

“You’re telling me,” she mutters.

“But she’s yours, yours to take care of,” he affirms, and she looks back at him, the heat from the champagne making her flush.

“How do you know?” The question is not indignant, but it is not necessarily polite.

“You watch them with utmost love and devotion. Not a lot of sistercousingodparents care that much.” He scratches his head and looks out at the group. His comment throws her off guard, and she chokes on her drink before laughing.

“Our parents died a few years back. She was still young,” Rose tells him, not even bothering to cover it this time. She doesn’t feel the need to with them gone. It’s irrelevant anyway because it doesn’t change the fact he’s right. Elle is hers to worship, love and bring upright by their parents. He wasn’t wrong when he said as much, but that isn’t what’s bothering her. What’s bothering her isn’t the fact she’s indulged him this far, but that she’s given him enough information to get _close_.

“So were you.”

His words cause her to look back at him; the traces of sadness she knows still linger in her eyes. She looks away as she’s about to tell him that she’s thirty-three, figuring he’s just been presumptuous and thought she was twenty like everyone else she’s met this weekend, but something tells her to take a better look at him. She has no notion how old he may be, though there are lines around his eyes, lines that she could trace with her fingers as he laughs or smiles at her. She’s wondering why she’s even speaking to him. She doesn’t want to get to know him. She doesn’t care. She’s only here for Chantelle, then she’s on the plane back to the mother country in a few days, and she’ll never speak to this stranger named Tom again.

“Where do you work?” he asks, trying to break the silence.

“Why does it matter?” She doesn’t want to get close. She doesn’t understand how this is happening. All she knows right now is that she should get up, get up and walk away from him. It’s the only way to end whatever is taking place.

“Ah, you see, another quirky custom over here. Any silence is bad silence, which is why most of them are thought of as a loud and obnoxious breed. Really it’s just they’re terrified of the tranquillity, so they feel the need to speak at all times, even if it’s over mundane things.”

She nods, realizing she being aggressive to the only person paying her any heed is probably not the best way to follow the training the Ouroboros bestowed upon her. Commune with everyone. Remain calm. Blend.

She looks down at her bare feet, the strappy heels thrown to the side. The red welts starting to fade.

“I work for the government back home, helping to create diplomatic policies.” She offers.

“Sure.” He nods, taking another sip of his beer and tilting his head. “Right, you just bring in a CV, interview for that... type...” they both chuckle a moment before he finishes, “of position?”

“I have PhDs in Communications and Political Sciences,” Rose tells him, the glow of the champagne loosening her reigns enough to make her seem lethargic and friendly. “After failing my Bachelor of Science.” She holds her fingers up and silently mouths the words **two times**.

He is stuttering out the sounds of the words trying not to laugh too hard. “Ooooh, no. Ho— Why go back for round two?!”

“I love it!” She squeals out, chased by a snicker. “I mean, I am, RUBBISH at maths.” She shakes her head, “Whatever, it’s not like there isn’t time to learn it later.” she ruminates aloud. “No matter how much I am drawn to absolute truths, apparently I excel at people, compromise and hypotheticals. I get told I’m not a _real_ doctor,” she informs him. “Not a proper doctor a lot.”

“Ah, but what are _real_ doctors?” He quips, tilting back his head back as he leans against the table behind them. She notices his attention is focused on her and not the crowd in front of them. She realizes this may be the first time since she ended up on this planet in this dimension that someone was intrigued by her, and not because of her unnatural abilities.

“I suppose ones trained in the field of medicine. I never really pay attention.”

They’re silent for a moment before she adds, “You speak as though you’re a separate entity from us,” She nods her glass to the dance floor, where everyone is still enjoying themselves. “Interesting we all travelled.” she leans closer to whisper to him, _“I think it’s a conspiracy against hats.”_

“Fascinating.” He beams at her before she pulls back, and he looks back out at the masses dancing before them.

“That’s the difference. I permanently landed a decade ago, ex-pat.” He tells her, “Though I know I have a tendency to rebel against the notion.”

“My habits are atrocious now.” He turns to the table behind them and grabs a bottle of the champagne she is drinking.

“And your manners,” she adds, as he pours her more champagne then turns to face her. She tucks her legs under her in the over-sized banquet chair, and they toast to each other over manners.

“That’s the Scottish in me, bad manners and a wee bit awkward. I’m quite a catch.”

“Londoner— uptight with bad teeth. Nice to meet you.” She holds her hand out once more with feeling. He takes it and shakes it dramatically.

“Nice to meet you.” They laugh together as she lets him shake her hand. “But I don’t think you have bad teeth.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” she asks him, still giggling a little.

“No, I think you have a beautiful smile,” he remarks, holding on to her hand, tracing patterns on the back of it with his thumb, and she doesn’t feel the urge to pull it away.

“So, I guess that just makes me uptight.”

“Bah, you’re different, though,” Tom states, never looking up from the hand in his own. “Something happened to make you that way. I sense there is a rebel below the surface.”

She laughs, “What are you?”

“I’m a doctor,” he replies, and she feels her skin freeze; her blood runs cold. Slowly, she pulls her hand away and turns back to watch for Elle.

“Five more minutes before it’s time to cut the cake!” The wedding DJ announces over the sound system to the joy of the wedding guests.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you…”

“I’m not a big fan of doctors,” she says gently, sipping the champagne and resisting looking at him.

“You asked what I was, not who I am. _"_ He says, trying to keep the mood light. When Rose doesn’t reply, and he feels her distancing, he continues. “Sorry, we had just been discussing work before. It’s okay. I’m not considered a real one either.”

“Neither am I, remember? Impostors.” She looks for her clutch, preparing to bolt. He places his hand over it.

“Rose, I’m sorry, I didne mean to upset you. I just meant I’m a psychologist. To be honest, you intrigue me greatly.”

“So what, I’m a subject to you now?” she asks him crossly, bending over to place her shoes on and strap them up.

“No!”

“You’re an arrogant prick, you know that?” she says furiously, finishing the strap on her left foot. “You assume because you talk to me for ten minutes, you know me and can speak to me like that? You know nothing about who I am and what I’ve been through.”

Standing, she holds out her hand expectantly, waiting for him to give her clutch back. He places it in her hands but grabs her wrist as she begins to walk away.

“I’m sorry, I really am, for whatever happened to you and whatever I did to remind you of it. I sincerely apologize.”

Shaking her head, she begins to walk across the dance floor to the bathroom. It’s then that William appears in front of her, a concerned look on his face.

“You alright?’

“Just bloody dandy, thanks! Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She tries to push past him, but he grabs her arm before she can run away from him.

“What is it with the men in my life that makes them think they can keep doin’ that?” she asks as she pulls her arm away and rubs it. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just she can still feel the warmth of his fingers there, and she wants it to go away. She doesn’t want to talk to William, who reminds her of him in some ways. She doesn’t want to feel this way anymore, to feel lost. He looks at her confused, a look she’s getting slightly used to, and once she returns full fold with a look of blatant annoyance.

“What?” she asks him, standing there.

“We need to talk,” he informs her before holding out his hand, this time as a peace offering. It’s obvious he’s made this her choice. She could turn around right now, and he wouldn’t stop her, but apparently, it is significant enough for him to feel the necessity to stop her and ask. This is her choice, so why does it already feel like the decision has been made for her? What did she realize just nights ago? That he is forever in control?

Sighing, she sets her hand in his and lets him lead her out onto the dance floor. As he places his other hand on her hip, she begins to feel small in her own skin.

But he gently pulls her closer, and she finds herself resting her head on his tall shoulder, the scent of old leather drifting up to her nostrils. It occurs to her that it doesn’t make much sense since he’s in a crisp charcoal suit. But she’s finding that not a lot does make sense these days, so she gives in and relishes the contact.

She tries to listen to the song, hoping it will keep her mind occupied with thoughts other than the scent and feel of him as they glide across the floor.

Somehow he’s managed to make her feel like she’s nineteen all over again, even after all these years. She had hoped it had just been the liquor the other night at the bar, but now she knows it’s not, and faces the undeniable truth— that she will always be a child compared to him, and that she was still just a distraction, no matter what universe or version of him she’s with.

With her Doctor, she wonders what would have happened to them. After a time, she lost her ability to tell him when he was wrong. By getting too close, she doomed herself to be a servant to his antics, blinded by her feelings while he was content to pretend. She had always wanted to be an actress, the leading lady in her little scenes and situations, all grouping together to make her life seem not so dull.

She was never a star, and she never would be. He was the star, and she was the sky, black and dull in comparison. She became his sidekick instead of his canary, and she had been okay with it. She had made him a character, and he played his part well. She begins to panic as she thinks of all this, realizing that it means that Rose never really knew him and that for the last ten years, she’s been pining for a man she doesn’t even know.

He’s alien to everyone, including himself.

His hand pressed firmly into the small of her back; she tries to focus on anything other than his nearness. She looks over to see Tom’s dark eyes still following her on the dance floor. He’s talking to other guests. His smile was not nearly as bright as it had been when they had been speaking.

“You wanted to talk?” she asks William pointedly.

“Mmm?”

She pulls back and looks him in the eye, waiting for whatever it is he wants to say to her. Is he going to chastise her for the other night? Comment on how she’s been clearly evading him since she returned to the hotel and locked herself in her room?

“You obviously have something to say to me,” she repeats as he whirls her around and looks off into the distance, not paying her any thought. Rolling her eyes, she relaxes into their dance, letting him pull her a bit closer. As they twirl, she goes back to leaning her head against his chest.

“I see you and Thomas were getting’ to know each other,” he finally speaks, piercing her thoughts.

She pulls back, she contorts her brow up at him, wondering what has affected him to bring up her brief meeting with that insufferable man. But he’s not paying regard to her. He has that removed look on his face yet again, staring off at something that has obviously seized his curiosity. She forces him to spin her so she can see where he’s looking and sees Tom dancing with Elle.

“Yeah, what of it?” she asks him, watching as his ice-blue eyes drop down to hers, his ears turning red under her scrutiny.

“I don’t know. He seemed to make you upset, so I don’t think you should speak to him anymore, for your sake.”

If she was mad before, she enraged now. Rose pulls herself out of William’s grasp.

She stares at him blankly for a minute before she starts swiftly walking to the exit that leads her to a small corridor.

“If everyone could vacate the dance floor, it’s time for the bride and groom to cut the cake!” Rose hears booming at her, but she doesn’t make it too far down the hallway before William’s behind her, trying to turn her around.

“Rose wait, what’s wrong?”

Growling, she turns and pushes him right into the wall, startling the Time Lord as his head creates a resounding thud sound against the wall, her hands still holding his arms flat against it.

“What was that for?!”

“Why can’t you leave me the hell alone?!” She barks at him, removing her hands from his arms. ” _Years_ William. Years of working together. Of friendship. Of boundaries. Then you regenerated. So what did I do? I left so I could distance myself and figure out what was going on with me _alone._ I left my chi— Elle with you, and I did it alone, William. Why do you feel the unforeseen urge NOW to notice? To care about my needs?” She finishes before she continues to walk away from him down the corridor.

“Well, maybe if you could take care of yourself!”

Stopping, she turns around to look at him, the heat creeping up the back of her neck and into her cheeks.

“ _What the hell_ is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you seemed like you certainly wanted me to take care of you two nights ago,” he says cruelly, crossing his arms across his chest, his suit jacket creasing—that mean streak of a smirk showing through.

“So this is what this is all about? Are you kidding me?” she asks him in disbelief, placing a hand on her hip.

“Rose, you have a celestial/alien wolf spirit for lack of any reasonable definition in _all the languages of Earth_ , LIVING INSIDE YOU. This spirit thrives on your emotional energies, so yes, I am going to worry about you when you get emotional. On top of that, you proved you’re vulnerable the other night by getting drunk for the first time in years, and I had to hunt you down at some after-hours club-”

 **“I am not a child—”** Rose begins to interrupt him.

“and I don’t want—”

 **“** — **William.”**

“—you getting hurt.”

“Bullshit!” She exclaims.

“Pardon me?”

“I said bullshit,” she replies as she slowly walks towards him, her arms mimicking his own. “Let’s stop beating around the bush. For once in our lives, let’s be honest with each other. You have always understood I was in love with him, and we have _always_ let it be what it is. I make mistakes, less and less over time, and yes, I made one Thursday, but it’s not like I had never slipped in the past. So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here.”

“I already told you, you’re vulnerable. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’m always fucking vulnerable!” she screams, pushing him. He catches her wrists again in his hands. “What difference does it make now!?”

“I’m not him!”

“Does it matter?!”

They struggle for a moment, he defending himself from her violent behaviour. It’s as though at this moment, she can feel time slowing. She would like to blame the Wolf for these behaviours, but Rose knows that she is the perpetrator here if she's honest with herself. She stops moving forward to push him, and his grip loosens.

She feels the racing of his two hearts, how he’s breathing heavily. His jaw is clenched in a way that tells her he’s _furious_ with her, but his pupils are dilated in a way that she recognizes from her memories. The fog clears from her mind as she rips her hands away from his and takes two steps back.

“You’re jealous.” She states, the epiphany bringing her no joy.

“What?” Now it’s his turn to sound disbelieving.

“Don’t play daft, you heard me, you’re jealous. That’s all this is, the night I got back from Greece…”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He laughs callously at her, placing his hands in his pockets, but even after nine hundred years, if that’s even how old he is, he’s not that good of an actor. His eyes betray the lines of his mouth.

“I won’t. Trust me.” She assures, gawking at him in a new light. The feeling of complete numbness at the realization washing over her. “Who the hell do you think you are, huh? Telling me who I should stay away from. Here I am telling him he doesn’t know me when even you still don’t get it. So please, let me clear it up for you, so we don’t have any misunderstandings again. You are William Bydysaw. Father, Husband, Human-in-training, whatever the hell you want. But you are _not_ the Doctor. You chose not to be a long time ago. More to the point, you are not MY Doctor, and you never were. So why don’t you just jog off to Grace and Peter and pretend everything is okay before I have to take on the burden of your fuck ups. Like I have done since the moment we met, I will do for the rest of my miserable life. Leave me alone. Leave me alone now, like you plan to in the future, like you always have done and do it merely because I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

Finished, she turns to walk the rest of the way down the hall and sees Grace standing there at the other end of the corridor, a blank expression on her face.

“Grace… it’s… not what you think.” She tries to get out, taking a step closer, but Grace isn’t looking at her; she’s looking behind her at William. Shaking her head, she slowly turns and walks away.

She feels William push her as he tries to pass her to catch up to his wife, but Rose never sees him. Her eyes are too blurry from tears as she slides down the wall.

~***~

* * *

“I feel like I’m harvesting organs,” Martha says, handing him what can only be described as a heart-shaped box made of a metal comparable to tin. She can see the gears and intricate designs that run through the centre of the piece.

“That’s because you are,” the Doctor says grimly, his suit jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He lies on his back underneath the grid flooring near the console. He places the sonic screwdriver in his mouth before Martha hands him the machine part. Once in his hands, she watches as he scoots out of her sight. She waits till she hears the Sonic rays of his screwdriver begin before she begins to talk to him again.

“So, why is Romana giving you parts from her TARDIS to upgrade yours? It just seems… If hers is a newer model, why wouldn’t she take the few parts she needs to fix hers, instead of having you practically remove and upgrade everything in yours.”

“TARDIS’ are living things, Martha. Romana may have a new TARDIS, but it still essentially has parts that cannot be replaced once they expire.“” is all he says before she can hear the screwdriver stop and be returned to his mouth.

“So, once the brain or the heart goes— no matter what you replace, she’ll never run again.”

 _The same rule applies to all living organisms, time machines or no… once you die, you rarely can be resurrected. Harvesting is all that can be done._ Martha hears whisper through her mind.

“I thought we established you’re going to tell me when you do that.”

_We established that you need practice and that the first thing is for me to project thoughts, not absorb—time to pull the drawbridge._

_"_ Noted. Still, though, that’s rather depressing. I thought you said that Time Lords have a connection to their TARDIS. ”

“They do,” he answers from underneath the grid, pulling himself closer to the open hole in the floor. He sits up once his head lines up with the opening, and he points to another piece of machinery lying on the floor. She hands it to him and watches as he drops down once more.

“Jack’s interesting,” she states, changing the topic. She can only imagine the loss that a Time Lord feels when their TARDIS dies. She wonders if it’s an empty loss or a burning black hole that devours.

“You know, for as long as I’ve known him, that’s the first time anyone has used ‘interesting’ as an adjective to describe him.”

“How do you know him?” She leans against the railing of the console area.

“Traveled for a bit with Rose and me,” he replies rather nonchalantly over top of the banging and clinking he’s making. “You know this would be much easier if I had an extra hand.”

“Well, Romana did say she could get one of her men to help you if you wanted.”

She crouches down on her feet like she used to as a small child before wrapping her arms around her knees and rests her face on the top of them. She watches as he scoots slightly out from underneath a shadow so she can see his face.

“What, and let them touch the inner workings of my TARDIS? That will never happen again,” he tells her before he moves back into the dark, away from Martha’s line of vision. She observes him intently, looking for something, but what it is yet, she’s not too sure. She watches as his body turns on the floor beneath her so that his feet are facing her now.

“What happened?” she asks, her legs getting tired in that position, and so she sits herself down at the edge of the grid and sits cross-legged, watching as his feet turn back and forth on the floor.

“A whole lot of trouble is what. They tried to reconfigure—”

“No, not with the TARDIS,” she says, smiling. “With Jack.”

“Many things happened with Jack,” he repeats with a neutrality that starts to bother her.

“Why did he stop travelling with you?” It’s direct and to the point, and she hopes he esteems her enough to answer.

“Well, as I said, many things, but if I were to narrow it down to one main point, I guess it would be that he died.”

Martha’s grin dims from her face as her core begins to burn with a panic of the unknown. She finds it odd that after all she’s seen, and after all she’s been through, she can still be caught off guard by his words.

“That would make our present situation awkward,” she commences, “Since he was talking to him just a few hours ago.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” he retorts over the banging and clanging coming from below. “The universe is a funny place.”

His feet stop moving back and forth before he speaks again. “Although, knowing now what I know, I guess I would have to make that plural… but universes just don’t sound right… universes… Universes are funny places… no, not the same effect.”

There’s quiet between them for a few moments before she hears, “Martha, do you ever know that you should know something, but it’s just out of your mind’s peripheral vision?”

“Yeah, I have that problem with tests—”

“Which is part of the reason why I ended up taking you, yes, I know… but I’m thinking more like the fate of the world. It’s not that I keep freezing up. It’s more like someone’s tampering with my brain.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly pleasant,” she says, before thinking about it and adding, “Nor does it sound safe. Do you think we will be okay?”

“We’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. Because whatever is happening, whatever is causing it, I think it is looking for me, and it’s keeping me alive when under the circumstances we’ve been through; Daleks, monsters, cities in turmoil, your brother—”

“Now now,” she interrupts, but she doesn’t continue, doesn’t mention that just because something wants to keep him alive, that doesn’t mean she’ll be fine.

“You told me you can’t bring something back once it’s dead,” she states, and she knows it sounds so narrow, so black and white, and coming from her, she knows it seems very naïve. She is training for her doctorate in medicine, after all.

“I said it’s rare, but apparently, it is a possibility. Jack is a product of that.”

He turns underneath the panels so that he faces her once more, pulls himself up and out from underneath the grid. She moves aside and allows him to do it himself, but grabs his jacket off the railing and holds it out. He’s breathing heavily, perspiring a touch with what looks like engine grease smeared on his face and hands. He wipes his hands off on his knees before reaching for the coat.

“I still don’t understand,” she tells him when he finally takes the jacket from her hands. She watches as he puts it on, crumpled and dirty, but it’s the only thing she can imagine him wearing.

“What’s there to understand?”

“Well, the man clearly adores you. It’s plain to see on his face. I don’t see how his dying then coming back could have affected his decision—”

“Well, it wasn’t his decision.”

They stand there in silence while he finishes buttoning up before he places his hands in his pockets. When he finally looks at Martha, she stands there with her arms crossed, shivering at how chilly it seems all of a sudden.

“So what, after bringing him back, you just took a quick jaunt to ye old England and dumped him here?”

“No,” he pulls his specs out of his pocket and begins reading configuration data on display. Martha sighs in relief and uncrosses her arms, sauntering towards him.

“I left him on an abandoned space station in the distant future.”

She feels the hot sting of tears welling in her eyes. It strikes her how the resignation of the Time Lord’s words run so deep. He can change and alter peoples’ lives, and sometimes not for the better. She feels her heart leap into her throat at the thought of being left behind—Jack, Rose; who else?

When he does look up at her, she sees his astonishment at her sudden emotional epiphany.

“How? Why— would you?” She can barely form her lips around the words, and in all honesty, she doesn’t want to hear the answer, doesn’t want to know that the image she held of him could be tarnished, not by anyone else, but by his own actions. When he looks up at her, she sees it in his eyes, the distance behind them.

“He was… I didn’t—” he starts, then he lets his head drop, and she wonders if it’s in shame. If he feels any remorse for the damage that he has caused others. She wonders until he lifts his eyes to hers, and then she knows for sure.

She knows the answer is no.

“I could tell you that I didn’t know, but that would be a lie. I could tell you that I did it for his own good, and to some extent, that would be the truth because it was. He ended up here, has made a life for himself, and other than his uncanny ability to keep his body pulling encores, he seems relatively normal. That would only be a half-truth because, in all honesty, I didn’t think about him much after that.”

She lets out a sob, unable to control the hurt and anger at his brutal honesty.

“He was expendable,” she says, and he turns back to the display, continuing to read the data. “He was expendable, and you never gave it another thought.”

“I was dying, and I had no idea what the vortex did to Rose. By the time I was done regenerating, and I figured out he was alive, we were—”

“You could have come back,” she cuts in, the tears streaming down. She steps forward to get his attention. He pulls back from the screen and looks down at her with a blank stare. She finds his resignation over the situation drives her closer to the edge, knowing he’s putting up blocks in his mind.

“You could have come back for him, and you didn’t.”

“I don’t come back, Martha. Not for anyone—”

“You came back for Rose,” she says, and she watches his expression grow darker at the mention of her name.

“You told me all about it— You had to ask twice. God damn it, you’re going back for her now!” she says, waving her arm towards the console. There is a silence between them, an earth-shattering stillness that grows and ebbs on the brink of insanity.

“You’re being petty.”

“Bloody right, I am!” she interjects. “How could anyone not be?! Every one of them Doctor, _every one_ of them.” Her voice reaches a higher pitch. “I don’t doubt for one second they all waited for you.”

She stops then, hiccuping a breath inward, before taking a few deep breaths to calm her shaking body. Slowly, she lifts her tear-stained face to his gaze.

“So does that make me expendable too?”

She waits for his answer, but instead of making an effort to reply, he looks away.

All that can be heard above the TARDIS’s natural cry is Martha’s footsteps retreating over top of muffled sobs.

~***~

* * *

Rose hears the muffled sound of their voices from down the hall as she reaches the door Grace and William are obviously talking behind.

“… You… don’t think I haven’t… I don’t blame her, William…” She hears as she presses her ear against the door, careful to keep out of the light streaming from underneath the doorway.

“…you think you heard or saw, nothing is further from the truth…” William says from the other side of the door, as she licks her lips and presses closer to the polished wood.

“Well, I have to agree with Rose on this one and say that’s bullshit,” Grace throws back. Hurried movement causes the light to move along the door frame.

“How so?”

“Why do you feel the need to hide it? God damn it, William, this is so typical of you. You think that because you know you’re brighter than I am, you can gaslight me whenever the narrative doesn’t suit you!” Grace snaps, “Rose loves you. She loves you just as much as I do. She’s never ever been malicious, never tried to interfere; she’s never been a threat. Not even when I first met her, I never saw it as a problem, William. I never once felt vulnerable with her there because I knew even in the beginning days that even if I couldn’t trust her, I could trust you.”

Rose feels her heart drop into her stomach. _This all could have been avoided,_ she finds herself thinking. _If I had moved on, found another person, stopped waiting._

“I thought you loved Rose, have I been—”

“Now, I do, yes!” Grace interrupts, “But don’t pretend you don’t know the amount of stress you put us _both_ under by trying to force us to get along, as one big happy family. If anything, the only reason why we bonded is because both understood how each other was feeling. It was easier before for her because the concept of the great and powerful Doctor was just an illusion. She didn’t know you, but she knew of you, her own concepts— I kept rationalizing it as if you had a brother, and she was my sister-in-law. How stupid of me.”

“Grace, I still don’t know…”

There is silence. The shadows stay still, and Rose bites her lip as she breathes deeply through her nose, hoping to remain unnoticed.

“You told me before you regenerated, there was a possibility… that feelings could change, that things could alter. Not just a face or a body or your personality— you made sure that I was okay with that. You always told me that if I lost those feelings, you wouldn’t hold it against me. Why is it so hard for you to realize that it could happen to you?”

“I never have stopped loving you—” William interjects, low and full of passion.

“No, maybe you haven’t. But you did start loving her.”

“You and Peter are my life! You think I’m going to let that go for someone who has more baggage than an airport terminal?! Rose is problematic on every level, Grace. She can’t let go, and she never will— she doesn’t want to! Even if I were to concede I did have any feelings other than sympathy for her, don’t you think I’m rational enough to know that I’d be making the biggest mistake of my life?!”

Pulling away, the world around her starts to swim. She lets go of the anger and the hate, the pain and sorrow, allowing the feelings flow from her body as she begins her slow trek towards the reception hall to the bar.

“Hey!” she hears behind her, startled. Turning, she sees Tom standing at the end of the corridor with a curious look on his face. He walks up to her with his hands in his pocket.

“What… what are you doing?” he says, surveying the scene, the mascara running down her cheeks. She looks at the mirror on the wall to her left, at the mess she’s made and then back to his concerned eyes.

Closing her eyes, Rose begins to walk towards him, feeling for her Wolf to see if she will help with her heart’s weight. The Wolf licks its mouth before stretching and smelling the desire in Tom.

She presses herself to his chest and lifts her heels off the floor, and pressing her lips to his. They are not as soft as she imagined as she takes direction from her Wolf and traces the edges of his mouth with her tongue. A soft groan escapes him as his hands find her waist.

He hesitates for a moment before breaking their embrace.

“What are you doing, Rose?”

“I just wanted to feel—”

She lets out a little ‘oh’ before she shakes the confusion from her head and starts rubbing her arms. Rose watches as it clicks in those brown orbs, and he reaches out and takes her by the arms. She sees the acceptance behind them that she never thought she’d see again, and although it’s not him, it’s enough.

“Anything, really, I’m just so tired of feeling numb,” she squeaks out, feeling herself being pulled into his embrace. It’s warm within the walls that his arms create around her, and a spark flicks inside of her, an ember starving for more of that warmth, but the embrace isn’t enough, their contact not sating her need. Rose pushes him towards a door on the other side of the corridor and presses the handle down to find it unlocked.

The wall behind him is cold, and she makes note it’s tile, briefly recognizing that they are in a bathroom.

She turns her face up to his and seizing Tom’s lips once more. He answers the kiss immediately. She notes the barley’s taste still lingers from his last beer, but it doesn’t stop her. She dives deeper, letting go, feeding on his warmth. She feels his chest, strong under her hands as she begins to work the buttons on the tux’s shirt, her hands nimble and quick before she tries to loosen his tie. But in that instant, he finds a way to push her away again.

“We can’t do this—”

“Please… I need…” she begs, holding him closer by his tie.

“Rose, it’s completely unethical. I can’t… you’re vulnerable—”

“I can’t do it. Please, just make the numbness stop. I know. Okay? I know, and it’s okay. So, please… Tom please—”

He devours her, his hands in her hair, bobby pins flying, but she leaves the shirt and bowtie alone now, realizing he has a better plan. He turns her in his arms and presses her back against the counter. He then takes her by the hip, a sign he’s ready to dance, and she lifts her skirts as he prepares himself to lead. She gasps as they take their first steps, slow and gentle, moving in harmony to the music floating down from the overhead speakers.

 _Speakers in a bathroom, classy_ — she pushes the thought from her mind.

He holds her close, his strong embrace making her feel her feet lift off the floor, and she sits at the edge of the counter. She turns her head so he has room to rest his against her shoulder, a dance move that she’s not used to, but it’s nice enough, nonetheless. He moves in a slow rhythm against her, as she gets lost in his embrace, she feels no remorse when she sees the door, and William finds them at the other end of the room, the look on his face lost.

Her partner is too caught up in the moment, too wrapped up in her to notice the other man’s intrusion. He just stands there, his eyes piercing, face sullen. He doesn’t fool her. He can’t hide the damage of her betrayal. She rests her head against her partner’s shoulder, never giving William the satisfaction of looking away. She has won, but she’ll never know what the game they were playing was.

It doesn’t bother her what she has lost by winning either, as she and Tom mesh together. During this dance, with William standing there, that look on his face, Rose proves she feels nothing for _him_ anymore. The music grows and presses against her, the notes of their music hurried as they reach a crescendo. She doesn’t close her eyes until he walks away, doesn’t let the music lose control, and the dance reaches an end.

When Tom releases her, all that’s left is the sound of the celebration announcing its conclusion over the speakers’ static.


	16. Unlocked

“I thought you said this was safe!” He roars to Romana as the TARDIS jerks and moans, sparks darting everywhere, while he tries to maintain his balance.

“It is safe!” she fires back, using the railing to keep her upright while piloting the ship. Both move in a frenzy, pushing and pulling gadgets on the console. It’s almost enough to make Martha laugh if she wasn’t already too busy trying not to throw up.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if you let the other TIME LORDS HELP!” Jack yells to him, over top of the warning bells, and even then, she can hear his exasperation.

“That’s not part of the deal. The deal was that you and Romana could help pilot, not them,” he roars while shooting a cautionary glance at the two younger Time Lords seated beside her. Martha turns to the one left of her, hoping to catch the dark-haired alien’s eye. He turns back to her, a calm expression on his face. Martha smiles reassuringly at him only to have him look away.

Rolling her eyes at his indifference, she tries closing them at the onslaught of the shaking ship, only to realize it wasn’t a good idea. They shoot open, her stomach lurching into her mouth, and she’s ready to throw up. It’s the Time Lord to her right, a blonde named Fren, who reassuringly takes her hand, causing her illness to slowly ebb away into a bearable queasiness. Martha smiles at her in gratitude and goes back to watching the three causing this hell.

“You are such a hypocrite. They are at the top of their classes, two tests away from their license, something _you_ never got, and you’re questioning their ability to fly?” Romana calls out, irritated.

“Who still has a functioning TARDIS after flying through the void, huh? That’s what I thought!”

Martha stops paying them any notice when Romana and the Doctor start speaking in a language she doesn’t understand. It occurs to her that if the TARDIS can’t translate it, it must be an old tongue. That, or she’s trying to spare Martha the grief of listening to them.

Martha holds onto the Time Lord beside her, holds onto her hand and tries to focus on something to keep her environment from spinning. She determines she can’t help but watch the Doctor, moving about the console, the frenetic energy of his actions, the sparkle she hasn’t seen in months. Even then, she never saw the frenzied mania he exerts now, his muscles screaming in glee, a twinkle in his eye.

It’s enough to make her sick.

But before she can, the TARDIS lands in a resounding clatter, causing more sparks to fly everywhere. Her eyes fuzzy from the light; she tries to unbuckle the belts recently installed from Romana’s ship, belts that secured her while they took this crazy journey. Struggling against them, she feels someone else’s hands helping her calm and relaxed, and as her vision clears, she can see it’s Fren. She smiles in appreciation and lets her unbuckle them both before she’s up and running to where the Doctor fell.

“You alright?” she asks, kneeling beside his form.

“Just a bit of rough and tumble, no damage done," he takes his hand and pulls her to her feet. Next, she goes to check Jack.

As she approaches his still body, she gets gooseflesh at the sight of it. His neck seems to be crumpled at an angle that she knows is not quite right. A small dripping sound, as it sneaks through the grate, causes her to move fast. She can already tell he’s not breathing.

“Got a problem here…” she says, her voice on the edge of panic as she begins to check for a pulse.

“No, you don’t, trust me,” the Doctor says, gently helping Romana up. Martha stares in disbelief at his complete disregard before turning back to the recently dead and tearing open his shirt. Part of her heart knows that this is futile, useless even. As a student doctor, she grasps the concept that his neck is broken, and if he’s not dead, then he’d be severely paralyzed for the rest of his life **.**

Martha has seen a dead body before in school, but this is different. She knew him. He had made her lunch. He had shown her the dream recorder. He had been laughing moments ago, a chiming sound she found more precious than any stone.

“A little help here?” she asks, pumping Jack’s chest with her hands in repetition. She turns to look back at the Doctor, who has Romana’s head in his hands as he investigates her for damages. Slowly he turns to Martha, a sad look on his face, a distance between his thoughts and eyes.

“Trust me, Martha, you can stop.”

“I’m not going to let him die! It doesn’t end like this," she shouts, pressing her mouth to Jack’s and exhaling into his body. Before she can pull away, two hands come up and wrap around her head. She breaks away and moves away from his body.

“Jesus Christ!” she gasps in shock as she crawls away. He moves his hands up to his head and pulls, and a sickening pop resounds as Jack grunts in pain. He drops his hands and tilts his head towards her. She sits a few feet away.

"Not exactly." The Doctor quips.

“I just had the most wonderful dream. A beautiful doctor was taking off my clothes and then…” He lifts his head to see his shirt undone. “Oh, Nevermind.”

He smirks, “sorry, sweetheart, I just can’t help myself sometimes. You should see men’s faces when I do it. They don’t know, be happy I’m alive or kill me.”

“Anyone care to tell me what the hell just happened?!” Martha feels her adrenaline begin to drain away from her body as Jack rises, leaving no mess on the floor where the blood should still be.

“Jack can’t die, which is why he’s joining us on our little journey,” the Doctor bends down to pull Martha up.

“Is that true?” she asks Jack, the Doctor still holding her hand, still keeping her grounded against this new information.

“Scout’s honour,” he answers, holding three fingers up.

“Like you ever were a scout,” she scoffs, turning away towards the others.

“No, but I met Lord Robert Baden-Powell once. Excellent stamina, lovely wife.”

She shakes her head, ignoring Jack and focusing on the Doctor. He still holds her hand gently, his thumb rubbing the top. She can see the visible distress in his face at the thought of harm befalling her, and it’s almost enough to make her forgive him.

Almost.

“Uh… you could have told me that Jack was immortal,” she whispers.

“Uh… As far as I can recollect, I’m quite sure I did.”

“No, you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did. I specifically— you know what, never mind. I’ll resend the bloody memo.” He releases her hand and steps away, and she stares on in disbelief and confusion. At this moment, in this environment, she’s never seen him so… human. His nerves are wracked. He’s pacing back and forth, chewing his nails and being all together fidgety. Since he fell from the pedestal just the other day, she has been viewing him through different eyes, with a different perspective. With this viewpoint, now that she sees him, she sees how fragile and utterly _normal_ he is, Time Lord or otherwise.

She realizes now that even if this is all Rose is to him, a vulnerability that makes him flawed enough to relate to others if she is what separates him from Romana and the other stuck up Time Lords… Well then, that’s enough.

~***~

_She walks through the forest, her red hood covering her face, the basket secure at her side. Her aspiration is to safely make it to grandma’s house while ensuring that no one gets the vital information protected from enemy eyes. Torchwood is counting on her. Her breath quickens at the thought of danger, her pace speed up as she sinks further into the thick of the trees._

_“Rose…” she can hear him hum, the one she dreads, the only one who could stop her._

_“Rose…” he calls again, soft against the shell of her ear, tendrils of her hair falling outside the red cloak._

_“The thing about most fairytales Rose is that they have a beginning, a middle and an end.” He emerges from the shadows of the trees, only a few feet ahead of her._

_Her steps slow. No need to hide it. She knows she’s been caught, knows he likes to play with his prey. There is no escape. She stands there, waiting for him, waiting to see his face as he moves out of the darkness. Any moment now could be her end._

_“But your story Rose,_ _it has no end. It skips like a flat stone against the surface of the still waters of the ocean that this universe resembles. One tiny stone **,**_ _so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and yet you just keep skipping.” His deep brown eyes find hers. His trademark trench billows in the wind around him, as though he belonged there with the trees, living amongst them._

_Still, she knows that he’s out of place here._

_The chucks give it away._

_“You’ve changed since the last time I saw you.” She tries not to feel the heat rise to her cheeks or the yearning. This beast is stopping her from her goal, and therefore he is the enemy._

_“Mmm… have I? I guess it all depends on your version. Which one of me are you talking about? After all, this is your story.”_

_“Have we done this before?”_

_“You tell me, Jotunn.”_

_She remains silent, stoic against his words. What did he just call her? But she waits. She’s forever waiting for him to finish what he’s started. He slips back into the shadows as she feels his voice fold over her._

_“You certainly have. You used to be Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth. Now look at you, the Wolf of the Mountain, a prison for a celestial has gone domestic, playing house with a child that’s not even your own. Small talk about work and homework? Please, I never thought I’d see the day_ — _"_

 _“I had too!” she interrupts, reacting to his words **.** “I never once called Peter my own. He had a mother and a father! The Ouroboros told me_— _”_

_“To what? To give up? Give into life? To chips and beans on toast? To white picket fences and mortgages? I thought they told you to raise him into the Protector, a warrior, not try and make him into something he’s not.” She’s reserved against his onslaught, figuring it’s for the best. She’ll never escape him, and he’s come here to collect._

_“A big swirly ball looping in over itself in a constant continuous manner— you were always articulate, weren’t you Rose?” He moves closer to her. Stalks her. Circles._

_“What are you here for? If it’s Peter…”_

_“No, it’s not the boy._ _I’m not really here at all. Do you think this is all real, Rose? The cape, the basket full of top-secret Torchwood information that must get to Granny’s before 16:00 hours? I think your brain is starting to go in your old age.”_

_She remains silent, tears falling down her cheek. She had been so happy on the trail before he appeared. So delighted to believe in forests and fairies._

_To not veer off the path._

_He’s ruining it. He’s ruining it all with his words, and his clothes and every little detail. He doesn’t belong in this world, just as she didn’t belong in this universe._

_Still, he circles her._

_Still, she waits._

_“Do you remember the day that Grace gave you Peter? The day you two swapped children? Elle was so brave, so at peace, knowing she would never see you again. It was almost like she was relieved.”_

_“Stop it,” she hisses, and he stops the pacing right off to the side of her. He’s behind her now, gently pulling on the red hood. He obeys her wish but leans in to whisper in her ear._

_“Mind you, Elle was a young woman by then, almost eighteen years old. You two looked like twins, which is why I guess it made it easier for you to pretend you’re her great-granddaughter these days, made it easier to dye that hair of yours auburn, just like hers.” He nuzzles against her throat, and she swallows, pinned to her spot, and then he’s gone again. She sees him out of the corner of her eye._

_“But Grace? She cried and cried. She didn’t want to hand over her baby, her son. She always knew, always knew it would have to come to that. After all, fifteen years and he still was the size of a five-year-old. She always knew she would have to let go. She wouldn’t let you touch her, wouldn’t let anyone touch her as she cried **.**_ _"_

_His words send shivers down her spine, and she notices that the trees are becoming dimmer._

_She can’t see the forest through the trees._

_“You must have wondered, wondered if she took care of Elle if she loved her the way you did, the way she expected you to love Peter. I know that you looked. Between the constant moving and pretending, you searched **.**_ _You kept in contact with Torchwood until you knew that it was futile. You kept looking till you knew they would have had to have been dead.” Her heart is in her throat. His breath is blazing against her. “And to think, that was his idea. Taking you away from each other, but then we do love to cut the chord and never look back.”_

_“What do you want?”_

_He moves to stand in front of her, no more than a few inches away._

_“I want you to wake up. They are coming, and you have to get ready. You’ve had your head in the clouds for so long that you’ve forgotten what you’re here for. You forget what he’s here for the boy. What you don’t know is that they’re hiding something from you, your granny and your mum. You are just confused as to what you are doing. There is no good and evil, no truth, only everyone’s perceptions, but you are so lost, so lost as to what is really going on.”_

_“What do you want from me?” she asks him. He leans down and tucks her hair behind her ear before cupping her cheeks and pressing his lips to hers._

_“I am just trying to protect you, trying to help you.” And he pulls back, walking away from her, a smile still stretched across his face._

_“But if you’re not the big bad wolf? Then who is?”_

_“You are.”_

Rose rouses to the noise of her alarm going, and she groans as she hits the off button and gets up to make herself a cup of tea. She strolls down the hallway, passing half-unpacked boxes until she reaches Peter’s room. She can’t help but look in on him, surprised to see him still face down on the mattress, sound asleep. Knowing his alarm will go in another twenty minutes, she prefers to leave him be and let him have those last precious minutes.

As she draws the robe tighter around herself, she pushes her auburn hair back out of her face before making her way to the kettle. Once it’s on, she sits at the kitchen table and begins to think about her dream.

It’s the first time in years she has thought about him, at least a decade since she’s reflected on particularly William. She remembers because it was Peter’s fiftieth birthday, an equivalent to his tenth.

_“Mum,” he asks, and it causes her to still cringe at the sound. On occasion, it still overwhelms her that his emotional maturity level grows at the same pace as his body, but this is not one of those times. She would correct him to tell him to call her Rose, but it’s best to keep up appearances when they are in public._

_“Yes, Peter?” she kisses his hair as they wait to go see a movie._

_“Why isn’t Dad coming for my birthday?”_

_“It’s because he’s busy keeping us safe. He’s… your dad had to go away for a while,” she says, trying to remember how she told him the first time. “He had to go to a faraway place because he met some Time Agents that said they could fix the TARDIS.”_

_“He’ll be back, right?” Peter asks her, no sign of sadness or hope in his voice. He sounds so old. She shakes her head, realizing he’s really fifty. It makes her feel so old._

_“One day, sweetheart, one day.”_

The tea is placed in front of her, the sound of the cup hitting the solid table waking her out of her reverie. Peter smiles briefly at her and sits across from her. She hadn’t even heard the squealing of the kettle. How long had she been thinking to herself? She notices the beans on toast he’s made her before sitting down to attend to his own breakfast. She smiles back fondly at him as he takes a sip of his own tea and bites down on the bread.

“Are you ready for your first day of school?” she asks. “I can drop you off before I head to mine.”

He nods politely, not really looking at her but focusing on the black art book he’s been carrying everywhere for months. She shakes her head at the new hobby, knowing it will only be a matter of time before he masters it, just like almost anything else he’s ever done.

“I know you’re still mad that we moved here from Japan. I know how much you liked it there, but we were there for too long. It was time, Peter," she says, reaching for his hand resting against the table. He stills at the touch **,** looking at it before looking up at her, his blue eyes vacant, dark brown hair falling in his eyes.

“I’m not mad,” he says quietly, turning his focus back to the book.

“Well, I’m super excited. New country, new names, new school.”

“First school,” he interjects, continuing to draw, his other hand stuffing food into his mouth. Rose smile falters for only a moment before she nods her head.

“It’s going to work out, I guarantee it. You’re old enough now that no one will notice if you don’t age the same. You know that’s why I couldn’t…”

“I know, Rose," he interrupts her, and it hurts just that little bit. They’ve had several lives now, identities given to them by her privileged status by Torchwood. She’s been a sister, aunt, cousin, even a godmother to him, but never his mother because she isn’t. That will always be Grace.

“We’re here to stay until you graduate, then we’ll move to Vancouver. It’s a bigger city, and we can get lost down there for a few more years. It’s exciting, isn’t it? We haven’t lived in North America yet.”

“You’ve said that already. Who are you trying to convince?”

She knows that he’s right, now she’s just speaking to reassure herself.

She stands and begins to move away from the table.

“I don’t see why I have to go to school," he mumbles, putting his graphite down and holding his head between his hands. She feels her brows furrow in confusion.

“But I thought you said you wanted to, to socialize and meet people outside of, well, me,” she says, stopping beside him, looking down at what he’s drawing. It’s a woman, her hair flying everywhere, floating in the middle of the paper.

“I did, but I realized you were right. It’s stupid. I already know it all. It’s too much danger. Anything I could learn there, I could learn on my own.”

“True, but I thought it was because you wanted to meet people, start socializing.”

“I’m not like them," he says, looking up at her with those blue eyes, so much worry and fear behind them, that she finds herself taking his face with both her hands.

“No, you’re not. You’re you, and you’re special, and there is nothing wrong with that. But Peter, this is what you wanted. Well, it may not be _where_ you wanted, but it’s _what_ you wanted. You wanted to go to school. You want to learn from a teacher and not the internet or me, you want to make friends _your own age_ , and that’s all any of them want to do, give or take a few of those options.” She beams, and he rolls his eyes at her.

“You may not be completely like them, Peter, but none of them are exactly like each other anyways. As long as you are yourself, you’ll fit in perfectly.”

“Did you learn that teaching, or is that something my father taught you?” he asks her. The words are not malicious, which is surprising to her since he has been punishing her since she told him they had to get out of Kyoto. He hasn’t talked about his father in over ten years, the name falling out of their vocabulary like Rose’s accent did over time. She finds it odd that the time she dreams of him is when Peter mentions the “F” word.

In truth, it wasn’t his father who taught her that, but her Doctor. He had been the first to show her that all she had to do was be herself, and never mind the rest. It had been good advice. She still uses it even now. But that would be too complicated to explain now, so instead, she says, “It’s something he taught me.”

She kisses his forehead and lets his face go, letting her fingers trail on the paper. The picture looks like something a skilled sixteen-year-old would doodle, at least from what she saw of them drawing in the corners of their books when she taught in Kyoto. He’s definitely not a master yet, and she revels at getting to see him fumble his way through a new skillset.

“She’s pretty,” she tells him and smiles as she tucks a strand of escaping hair back behind her ear.

“I see her in my dreams.” He tells her.

She can’t help humming to herself as she walks down the box-riddled hall to the bathroom to start her day. Yes, it’s time for him to go to school. He may be a Time Lord, but he’s also half-human.

After all, today is the first day of the rest of their lives.

~***~

The Doctor holds his breath as he takes his first step out of the TARDIS. It appears they have landed only a short distance away from where it had a little over two and a half years earlier with Rose and Mickey, right beside the Thames. He checks above instantly for dirigibles and is surprised to see something similar to them decorate the sky. They aren’t exact, leading him to believe they are in the right universe. The airships are thinner and seem to move somewhat faster than the last time he’s seen them. New airship technology? So soon? He chuckles at the thought of the poor bugger who works that job and finds himself smiling manically. There’s a sense here, a feeling in the air that tells him she’s here, and she’s waiting.

“Coming out?” he beckons into the TARDIS as Romana walks down the ramp towards him. Her heels are traded for combat boots and a pair of olive pants, and a black zip-up jumper.

“You’re a diplomat about to walk into a Torchwood that you have no idea if they’re going to be welcoming to you, and you choose to wear that?” he asks her, leaning against the steel railing that guards people against the river below.

“Well, if they don’t take too kindly to the President, then it will be a good camouflage, won’t it?” she smiles at him.

He smiles back and lets his gaze travel to his ship’s insides as he watches Jack check coordinates on his wrist band, the wool of his long coat making it harder to billow against the wind. As he steps out of the way, he can see Martha slowly making her way down the ramp **,** chatting it up with one of the other Time Lords that had accompanied them on this trip.

She makes eye contact with him, and he grins at her. She smiles back at him, and then he knows she’s forgiven him.

Once all of the occupants are outside the TARDIS, he looks to her.

“Right then, so what’s the plan?” He places his hands in his pockets and looks at Romana.

“Send out any signals that may help other Time Lords detect our presence. Originally I sent out three teams **:** Alpha, Beta and Theta. Alpha was to remain behind.”

His smile fades a touch at the names.

“And we are?”

“Team Theta. We are the only team to get back through.” She looks at him briefly before blushing and looking away.

“Right, of course, we are.”

Jack interrupts their awkward moment, “Well, you go do you’re signal… thing… And we’re going to go get a bite to eat.” He takes Martha’s hand and smiles brightly at her.

“You hungry?” Jack asks.

“Of course!” she replies, smiling back at him before looking at the Doctor. “Will that be okay?”

He feels one of his hearts drop a little, noticing her hand linked with Jack’s, her smile brilliant, but he doesn’t let it show.

“Sure, I’m not your keeper,” he tells her half-heartedly, trying to be light and breezy. But he watches as her smile falters for a split second, a sliver of hurt entering her eyes at the response, and he wonders then if he can do anything right.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if I could take a leave of absence as well, Madam President **,** " asks Fren, her new outfit causing her to blend in better with the earthlings wandering around them on the path.

“Well, I _am_ your keeper, and I don’t think I can spare you at the moment. I need someone to set the coordinates of the inter-planetary signal, something that wouldn’t show up on Torchwood’s scope unless they’re there.”

“I can do it,” the other young Time Lord pipes up. He has also changed into similar military fatigues as Romana **.** “Let Fren go with her new human friends. I can take care of it. That is if you find that suitable, Madam President.”

She looks at Fren then back to the other one **.** “Alright, Anais, you may stay and deal with the coordinates. Fren, you may have your leave.”

Fren smiles widely and trots over to where Jack and Martha had stopped to wait for her, the Doctor watching as all three of them jaunt off merrily while he stays behind with Romana to help.

 _Sometimes,_ he thinks, _you have to sit one out._

~***~

“Ready?” Rose asks him **,** her hands tightly gripped around the steering wheel. The school that stands before her is over 200 years old and gorgeous, no less, red brick with large expanding windows and stairs up to the front entrance.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks him as they watch teenagers mingle in the courtyard full of dead leaves on the lush green grass.

“It’s old **,** " he replies in a non-committal tone. She looks past the passenger seat to look up at the looming building.

“It is, but it’s not what it appears to be. When your principal gave me the tour, he explained that the buildings up front are heritage sites, and therefore protected by law. They rebuilt the school in the last decade so that there’s better heating, power and all of that in the back part of the school. See the segway?” she says, pointing to the hallway that leads from the old worn building to a more up-to-date one. The glass gleams in the early morning sun as people move back and forth through it. “Now remember to silence your phone in class, so I don’t have to buy you a new one or hear about it from your teachers. I heard they do most of their work off of tablet integration, so I made sure to charge yours last night. Call me if you need a ride home later.”

He nods politely and sighs before opening the door.

“Hey!” she says, grabbing his arm before he turns to leave. He looks at her, his eyes evasive.

Just like his father.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to **,** " she knows, even given the option, he would refuse to take it, and he doesn’t prove her wrong.

“I’ll be fine! Go talk to actual five-year-olds.” Peter gives her a half-hearted smile, which she returns tenfold. She leans in and kisses his cheek, much to his dismay.

“Gross, do you HAVE to do that?” he asks her, pushing her away, but not with full strength, never will full strength.

“Yes **,** now get out of my car, or I’ll be late,” as his bell rings. He climbs out and looks back at her **,** leaning down to keep eye contact.

“Have a good day.”

Smiling, she nods, “You too.”

He closes the door before running towards the school. She allows the grin to wane from her face as she watches him run towards the main doors.

She feels it. Like a piece had finally slid into place in her brain, a puzzle completed, and now a weight against her mind. Fuzzy, yes, but present. She’s been feeling it since she woke from her dream.

She doesn’t leave the parking spot until she sees Peter go through the door.

~***~

Martha sits across from Jack, Fren to her right, digging into a plate of eggs and waffles. Jack smiles before biting down on his sausage. Fren stares at her plate.

“What is this?” she asks curiously, the pancakes still untouched, the syrup to her side.

“They’re pancakes. Haven’t you had pancakes yet?” Martha laughs as she shovels piece after piece of egg and toast, waffle, and hashbrowns.

“Fren wasn’t allowed to partake too much in Earth customs, such as our food. Romana seemed to think that if she allowed them to get too involved, they might end up like the Doctor.” Jack informs her, never looking up from his meal.

“Is this true?” she looks at Fren, who sits politely.

“She didn’t even want us wearing human clothing until she realized we were supposed to seem inconspicuous. That’s why she isn’t wearing her sash or carrying her rod.” Fren replies, picking up the knife and fork at the sides of her plate.

“What did you eat then?” Martha manages to say before she shoves her dipped waffles into her mouth.

“Mostly proteins and nutrients in bland earth forms. Pastas without sauces, nuts, no meat. Time Lords do not eat living creatures on Gallifrey,” Fren answers, mimicking how Martha pours the syrup on her plate before she begins to cut into her pancakes and takes her first bite.

Jack and Martha both look up to witness Fren’s first taste.

“It’s so sweet!” she exclaims, her voice as surprised as her eyes. They snicker as she begins hurriedly shove them into her mouth.

“It’s… I’ve never experienced…”

No one interrupts or acknowledges her apparent approval for the dish. All eat in silence before they see the Doctor and Romana running up to their table.

“We found them. They’re at Torchwood.”

~***~

“Frankie just sneezes directly into the cookie dough, like full out directly into the bowl. Then Nancy dared to ask me if I wanted one of the cookies at snack time, and I say no before I watch her EAT one.” Rose says as she dishes out carrots to go with the mashed potatoes.

“So gross.”

“Right?”

Peter’s being weirdly ambidextrous and moulding his potatoes with one hand and sketching away with another. But he seems troubled, with creases furrowed into his young face.

“What’s the matter? Lots of homework?” she asks him, ladling more carrots onto his plate.

“Please, homework?”

“Fair enough.”

“I’ve had a headache for the last couple of days, ever since the first day of school. It’s right at the front of my head, and it’s getting worse.” He drops the fork and the graphite and places his head in his hands. She puts the pot on the table and pulls off her oven mitts.

“Yeah? Let me see.” She bends down and puts the back of her hand on his forehead.

“Come on, Rose, I’m not daft. I think I know a headache from a fever.”

“Then humour me. I am your guardian, after all.”

“Yeah—you protect me, _that’s_ how this works.” He rolls his eyes.

“Besides,” her voice has an edge of surprise at his insolence, but she holds her hand in place. “I work with fifteen bacteria and germ-infested rug rats. I know a thing or two about a thing or two.”

He doesn’t pull away from her onslaught of forehead checking and gland testing.

“Well, you don’t feel warm," she says, stroking the hair out of his face.

“No communicable illnesses, doctor. Do you believe me now?” he mumbles, his tone emotionless. It was almost as if he was a teenager.

“Yes, I do," she gets up from her kneeling position. She neglects to mention that she’s had the same headache, the same press against their skull. Instead, she walks around to her side of the dining table and begins to sit down.

She can hear the roar of a tsunami about to hit her, her body going numb against the oncoming storm. Peter fades from her vision, and the rumble drowns out his conversation. Quicker than the sound of the waves grew, all becomes deafeningly quiet before all she hears is her intake of breath as she’s thrown to the floor.

_“What do you want?”_

_“I want you to wake up.”_

A strangled noise escapes her throat as she claws her way up the side of the cupboards, trying to pull herself to a sitting position. The brand on the back of her neck is on fire, searing her and causing her agony. The sounds she makes reminiscent of a howl.

She feels a stir in her stomach of the beast she’d thought she had mastered hiding. The Wolf, and her other passenger, are fighting for possession, fighting for the right to own her. She looks up to see Peter standing above her, a concerned expression on his face.

_“But if you’re not the big bad wolf? Then who is?”_

_“You are.”_

“Run,” she growls, the scent of his skin making her dizzy, his sweat and fear mingling and exploding in her brain. She sees a rainbow of colour around him turn to different shades of blue and black.

“I won't leave you like this!” He is hovering over her, his hands outstretched to pacify her. “Not again.”

 _“Peter, help me_ —

Don’t trick him!

_But he looks so yummy!_

A little help here?

**What and share?**

_I doubt it…_

FOR GOD SAKES PETER RUN!” She screams at him, and he darts out of the kitchen and down the hallway as she slides further down on the floor.

“Peter and the Wolf,

_How quaint!_

**Did you know he’s come for you?**

_The father?_

Tick Tock, Time’s a clock, Rhyme with time, but Time’s a bore, there’s always war, war war war… Time… war… time… war… time…”

And then he’s back, a bottle of pills in his hands— they shake violently trying to open the cap.

“Rose, what do I do? They’ve expired!”

“ _Rose is a little busy right now, dearie, but if you could just get me a cuppa…_ Don’t talk to him like that, like you’re better than him…”

She sees his eyes tearing up as he shakily finds a way to open the bottle and dump a few pills into his hands.

“Peter…” she whispers, finding her voice amongst the others **.** “Peter, give me the whole thing.”

“But it could kill you— there are more than fifty pills in here!” he shakes his head.

“I know, it’s okay… don’t die, remember? It will be okay, trust me… maybe I just need to jumpstart the system, like last time.” She is panting, her forehead perspiring.

He shakes his head no, not ready to accept that he may going to have to kill her to bring her back to normal, but he does it anyway. Tipping the bottle in her mouth and grabbing a glass of water, she fights off her passengers, and Peter helps her get the pills down. She begins using her teachings from the Ouroboros on meditation and control. Peter lays her on the ground and then moves back out of her reach as her pain begins to fade.

“Your eyes,” he tells her, “the amber is fading.”

“That’s a good thing, remember? Means I’m winning.” She sees the colours around him slowly fade from blues and blacks to greens, even though they are gradually disappearing. Her synesthesia is steadily fading, although she can still smell sulphur and ash. Slowly, he goes to grab a comforter and a pillow. He throws the blanket over her and lays down beside her, the pillow under his head.

“You don’t have to stay, Peter, you don’t have to stay and watch this,” she croaks out as he holds her hand. He’s propped her on her side in the recovery position, her arm outstretched with her hand in his.

“I told you, I’m not going to leave you **,** " his tears already fading from his eyes, his resiliency taking over.

“Then I want you to go to sleep, and don’t worry, okay? Because everything will be fine in the morning. Think of it as me going to sleep **.** "

“I love you, Rose," Peter whispers, closing his eyes and letting himself drift off. The adrenaline rush he experienced moments before has worn off, and he is tired. She knows the headache throbs viciously against his mind, the way it pains her.

She watches as his breathing slows as he drifts off into sleep, her breaths coming in slower and slower intervals, the drugs slowly working their way through her system. But she watches. She watches him as her body gets colder and colder, doing her prophetic job as her mind gets fuzzier and fuzzier until she closes her eyes for the last time.

That is, until tomorrow.

She’s now afraid of the big bad wolf.

~***~

“And you are?” the front desk man asks, smiling politely.

“Romana, I already told you,” she says, getting frustrated. Calming down, she tries again. “Look, I know you’re only doing your job, but this is of a most pressing matter.”

The young man looks at them, at their varying styles and ages. He smiles as he looks back to Romana.

“I think you have the wrong building. This is Vitech Center,” he tells her firmly.

Romana looks at the Doctor, nods, and they all take a few steps away from the desk to come up with a new plan.

“I didn’t foresee this being a problem," she whispers. “Last time, it was rather convenient that we landed IN the main area of Torchwood, not having to get through the lobby.”

“What’s the back-up plan then?” the Doctor asks her, and she looks at all the faces around the circle—Anais, Fren, Martha and Jack.

“Well, there’s obviously no reasoning with the receptionist, and I don’t want to risk trying to move the TARDIS. I need some time to think,” she tells him, unable to look him in the eye, unable to admit she has not anticipated this hiccup. He sighs as he weighs pulling out the sonic screwdriver as proof of their otherworldliness and if the receptionist would be stupid enough to try to part him from it.

“Madam President, if I may, I think I may have an idea,” Anais speaks up. Romana looks up.

The Doctor watches as she thinks about it for a few seconds and then nods curtly, causing them to all turn and watch as Anais walks cautiously up to the receptionist and comes to stand behind his marble station.

They speak in low tones for a few minutes before Anais takes the receptionist’s hand and places it on his chest. The group watches on as the receptionist pulls his hand back, looking a bit shocked, but still trying to act professional, as he nods and picks up his phone.

The Doctor smiles as Anais walks back to them with purpose, a smile on his face.

“Right, up we go then? I’m sure the others will be waiting.”


	17. Invasions

Martha stands near the Thames, right outside of the TARDIS, watching the airships pass overhead. It’s only been a day, and she already is bored, already itching to leave here, wondering if this is how she’ll feel when she goes back to her family, her white coat and her laboratories. Leaning against the railing, Martha tries to reach out with her mind to see if he can hear her from so far away. She finds thinking about her abilities as having two tin can phones on a string helps her rationalize it. The farther away the other person is, the harder it is to hear them, even if you search along that string. She sends out an invitational tug and waits, not surprised when she doesn’t get a response.

“What are you doing out here?” Jack asks from behind her. “Shouldn’t you be out experiencing this place? Charting the uncharted?”

“It’s London,” Martha replies. “May have dirigibles and presidents, but it's still London. Not much to chart.”

He leans against the railing beside her, looking out at the water.

“Could always come back to Torchwood with me. I just popped by to pick up a few things. Romana’s running tests, and I’m having a tête-à-tête with this world’s Torchwood director. Turns out we have more in common than I originally thought. He’s got this sweet spot right behind his ear…”

“Not much I can do if I come back with you. Fren and Anais are too busy doing tests. You’re busy with the Torchwood director— there’s not a lot for me to do.”

“Who said you have to do anything? When’s the last time you went for a good shop? Or went to lunch, maybe a movie?”

She stays silent, listening to the cars go by and the boats’ horns as they cross each other’s paths. But there’s something else there, the sound of propellers overhead, the constant sound of them swooshing.

How had Rose dealt with it? How do you fit into a place that is so much like home but not? How she must have felt, living there, only small differences, only the tiniest of changes. But they must have been constant reminders, little pinpricks against her skin, her heart. What would have been worse? Those continuous reminders, letting her know that it was near impossible for him to come back? Or having it so painfully similar that for days on end, she would feel like he left her there, abandoned her on Earth to go off travelling, to leave her behind for someone else.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and she blinks, unaware she had been drifting in the river of her thoughts.

Drifting face down.

The tears fall down her cheeks as Jack turns her into his chest, his hand resting on her neck, the other firmly pressing into her back. She welcomes the contact and hugs him back, not knowing where or why, but knowing that it’s sincere.

“What if he finds her?” she asks. “What if by some crazy twist of fate he finds her and brings her back with us? What then? What am I going to do?” Her tears are absorbed by his heavy wool jacket.

Her only response is the sound of propellers overhead.

~***~

* * *

He sits in one of Torchwood’s many private Zeppelins as it crosses the Atlantic Ocean, staring out the window. He knows it’s useless—the fact that it’s pitch black outside kills any visibility. He’s flying alone—something he had to fight for, but not without a price. He left his TARDIS key behind, left it with Romana because even though she may not be his, she still has integrity about her that speaks to him. He waits for the day to come, then night; he waits to learn what became of her. He pauses, and as he does, he begins to remember.

_“What are you doing?” Romana asks him, standing at the entrance to the TARDIS._

_“It doesn’t make any sense. What they are saying doesn’t make any sense,” the Doctor says as he works his way around the console, his body tense and voice terse. He just spent four hours with other Time Lords and the newest Director of Torchwood. They all tell him the same thing over and over that the year is 2107._

_“I know,” she responds, defeated, and she climbs the ramp to his side._

_“The signal came from this universe, all she said ‘Time War.’ We followed the coordinates, but there’s no sign of it, it hasn’t happened yet, and there is no sign of any clear and present danger. No sign of—”_

_“Rose.” She answers for him as she leans against the railing, out of his way. He looks up from the screen, his specs falling down his nose in his fury. He stares at the lady in front of him, her sad gaze, the way she holds herself around him; he stares at her, and it doesn’t move him the way it may have hundreds of years earlier. How long had it taken him to get over her?_

_“A hundred years. It’s been almost a hundred years since I left her here.” The tone of failure resonates in his voice as he leans against the console, his arms taut against the machine as she creaks and moans in sorrow with him._

_“If she was alive if she— there’s no way. Torchwood has her certificate of death. Her bloody portrait hangs in the Director’s office!” he growls before pushing a cup off the console as hard as he can, sending it crashing to the ground._

_“And yet, you’re still looking.”_

_He glances up at her, his chest heaving in pain, his eyes burning. She’s no longer leaning against the railing but instead gently moving closer to him._

_“And yet, I’m still looking. Even if she had children and had decedents who may know **anything** about her, I need to know what happened. I need to know what became of her. Torchwood’s bloody privacy policy can kiss—” _

_“Doctor,” Romana interrupts, looking at the screen, and he follows. There it is, the tiniest of hopes, blinking to life on his screen; he’s located her TARDIS key. It’s on the other side of the world, give or take a few thousand miles, but it’s enough. He turns back to Romana, knowing she sees it in his eyes._

_“Romana, I have to do this.”_

_She nods in agreement. “Go. Go and do what you have to do. But when you get back, we are going to have to talk about what this means.”_

_“And what exactly does this mean?” he asks her condescendingly._

_“Just because it doesn’t seem like the Time War is coming doesn’t mean anything. The Glarecox invasion? The death of millions? That would be nothing compared to what is coming for your favourite little mound of dirt. It could hit at any moment. Now that we can’t question Rose, we’re just going to have to believe her.”_

He shakes the memory from his head as he looks through the holographic disks in the cabinet. He must admit, the accommodations Torchwood has to offer are comfortable enough. He even has a bed if he wants to sleep, which he’s needed more and more since this whole thing started. It’s then that he sees them, beyond the entertainment. There are disks of past directors’ logs on the jet, and it’s there, in those dust-covered cases, that he finds Rose.

Taking a deep breath, he places the disk into the image projector and presses the play button. She is there, outlined in a shaking blue, the technology brand new at best, not like the other logs he had seen when being debriefed at Torchwood. Her hair is dark, and her eyes sad, but she doesn’t look a day older than when he left her.

“Rose Tyler, Director of the Torchwood Institute One. February 25th, 2015, 15:00 hours. This recording will focus on the retelling of the Glarecox Invasion beginning in the year 2014 C.E. as motioned for by the Board of Directors. For brief introductory purposes, those unfamiliar with the Glarecox Invasion occurred New Years Day of the year 2015, after major acts of Environmental terrorism and assassinations against many major world government leaders. The invasion alone wiped out over 350 million souls in two days and was the catalyst of many other world events we are currently calling ‘the era of eradication.’”

So she had dealt with Glarecox, an ancient cruel species of alien that enjoyed war and torture more than any other race he met. It was rumoured that Rassilion himself had been involved in their creation but was horrified at the results and abandoned them to pursue more worthy endeavours. That was until the Daleks found out about their existence. For all his hatred of the Daleks and the Cyberman, the Doctor had never found a species more bent on relishing in the despair of those they murder than the Glarecox. If pride was in the process and not the product, then the Glarecox were a very proud, perilous threat to Earth. Even though he can see all that was, there is, and all that ever could be, he won’t do it. He instead uses all his strength to block out the events, universe and focus on her voice. If the Doctor lets these memories of hers in, he doesn’t know if he’ll have it left in him to go find her when the jet lands, and it’s imperative he gets to her first before anyone else does.

“Before understanding the invasion, it is crucial to learn the steps they took to disarm the majority of Earth’s armies...”

_“Well, hello, what’s this?” Rose asks rhetorically; Grace is packing a bag full of lunch items and snacks, the sound of Chantelle and Elle in the other room a soft reminder of their plan to spend some time together as a family._

_“You need to wear ALL your winter dress today. We won’t be back for hours.” Chantelle’s voice rings out._

_Rose picks up the remote control and turns up the volume of the television._

_“An unknown explosion in the middle of the East China Sea has created a circular tsunami 50km.”_

A holographic Rose takes a moment to reflect before continuing with smooth authority. “Not long after that, reports of earthquakes started flooding the news...”

 _“The Lago Elena Earthquake is believed to have lasted a full 15 minutes and is believed to have peaked at 9.6 on the Moment Magnitude Scale_ — _"_

_“Rose!” William calls to her from a few feet outside the car. She’s sitting in the passenger seat, still watching the news on her tablet while Grace, William and Elle have been sledding down a hill nearby._

_“I believe that the idea behind Family Day is we are meant to share it together, as a family. Which is difficult to achieve if you plan to spend the rest of it, the day that is, in the car.” He tells her, his hands shoved deep into the depths of his woollen jacket pockets, the blue scarf around his neck is covered in snow._

_She smiles at him and rolls her eyes. “Yes, right. Sorry. But afterwards, we need to drop off the ladies at home and go to work.” She turns off the tablet and rolls up the window before getting out. As she walks up the snowy embankment, he slightly shoves her shoulder with his, his curly hair brushing her face in the process. She leans into the shove, and they laugh before racing to Grace and Elle._

“And it wasn’t long before the San Andreas fault broke, South California falling in with it...”

_“Grace...” Rose calls again. “How can I help? We gotta go.”_

_Grace blinks, and her eyes come into focus. “Right, sorry.” She shoves the socks she’s holding into a large overnight bag._

_“Don’t be. I know you’re going through ALOT right now.” Rose states as she rushes past the woman into the ensuite bathroom. From there, she begins grabbing toiletries to shove into Grace’s luggage. “Which is why I’m here to help pack. As soon as you and Elle are safe back at base, we can talk if and when you’re ready.”_

_“No, you’re right. It’s just_ — _Everyone I knew. My father. Brian. My Unit contacts.” She’s wiping away tears and packing a picture of her and William she keeps on the nightstand when Rose rounds the corner of the bed and catches Grace by the shoulders._

_“Which is why you and I will be driving together to the bunker, and William will be with Chantelle and Elle. You can tell me everything you’re feeling once we are on the road in an armoured vehicle.”_

_Grace pulls her tightly into an embrace. “You are the only person I know who has ever understood half of what I feel, and it makes me sick to think we now have so much more in common.”_

_Rose holds onto her like Grace is a lifeline, and she’s been drifting at sea. She squeezes her eyes tightly together and remembers breathing, trying to follow the guidance of her therapist. It’s just, something is not right about what is going on right now in the world. With reports coming in from the Middle East and the rest of Europe that political leaders are going missing, she needs to make sure that everyone she loves is safe._

“The next step in their multifaceted plan was to wipe out some of Earth’s most powerful leaders. They started with…”

She stops, drops her head and sniffs as she wipes one eye. The Doctor waits for her to continue, and the seconds’ tick onward, the pause stretching on forever.

“Their first target was President Peter Tyler and his wife, Jacqueline Tyler. I realize Director, you will notice the connection between my name and theirs, so I’ll sate your curiosity now. They were of relation.”

_“Take care of her, would you? She means an awful lot to me.” William whispers in Rose’s ear as they embrace._

_“It’s a three-hour drive at worst to the base, but if anything comes for us, you know what I will do to protect her.”_

_He nods, “As I would for you and Elle, Rose.”_

_“Do you have your phone on?” Rose enquires as she starts walking back to her armoured base issued vehicle._

_“Of course.”_

_“Good.”_

~***~

* * *

Grace and Rose’s Torchwood vehicle is on the M25 when the left tires are blown out. To Rose, it feels like it’s all happening in 240 frames per second, as Jeffrey, their driver, swerves to regain control before the vehicle begins lifting from the road, spinning, rolling, crunching. She squeezes Grace’s hand in hers as the glass floats past both their faces. Eventually, the roll ends precarious as it began, with them upside down.

“Grace?!” Rose begs, her voice in distress.

“I’m good. Jeffery?! JEFFERY?!” Grace calls. All of a sudden, there is a hail storm of projectiles hitting the armoured vehicle.

“Shit.” Rose unbuckles her seatbelt and tries to lower herself as smoothly as possible to the car’s roof. She reaches into the drives seat and feels for a pulse from Jeffery, but instead, she pulls her fingers back, slick with blood. Rose begins to help Grace undo her belt and right her body to get out of this situation.

“Grace, we should stay in the car until help arrives. One of the decoy vehicles will be here shortly to extract us. I want you to get into it.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Grace, they are clearly after me. It will be safer for you to go alone. I swear I will be right behind you.”

The hailstorm stops, and they both keep silent for an extended period before the hailstorm begins again.

“Thirty-six seconds?” Rose asks.

“I got thirty—a solid fifty of fire.”

They see two more of her armoured Torchwood SUV’s cresting the embankment and down into the grass towards them.

~***~

* * *

“Are you okay?” Grace is asking her, placing a hand on her shoulders.

“After all this, you would think I’d be the one asking you that.” She whispers, her face lifting from her hands. Thousands dead and the body rise are on the count, and she still has no idea how to fix it. It’s the Sycorax all over again, except this time, people are really dying, and she really doesn’t have a Doctor to save her.

“How’s Elle?” Rose asks, the vulnerability in her voice betraying her.

“She’s with William and Chantelle. She’s really taken a liking to him.” Grace says, smiling, the tears still falling although she lifts her eyes to the ceiling to stop them. She shakes her head and chuckles, “Keeps talking about when we get out of here, how she wants him to take her to the park.”

As Rose swallows, there is a quietness between them, but she can’t manage to get rid of the lump in her throat. The tears that had threatened to spill finally do, as Grace reaches for her hand and holds it tightly.

“This is not your fault,” Grace says, bending to be eye level with her.

“No, it’s not. But I’ll be damned if I let them take you all away from me,” Rose says, lifting her eyes determinedly. She walks past Grace down the corridor towards William. It’s time they discussed the most current transmission from the Glarecox General and what the hell a Box Of Pandora was.

~***~

* * *

“After ravaging every ocean in an attempt to destroy our Nuclear submarines, they disarmed us from above with a series of EMPs over several hours. We were left with guns and chemical warfare. Mass hysteria followed; religious leaders began preparing for the end days.”

He doesn’t want to hear anymore, doesn’t want to listen to the anguish in her voice, and lacks passion as she recounts the death and destruction of her world.

“Even with my years of experience, I could not stop the onslaught.”

_Rose is combing over the CCTV footage, the bodies piled waste high in every direction she looks. A few motionless children lay at the top of the piles, but their bodies seem to be hidden under their parents for the most part._

_“Okay, see here item 6667 Anesidora Jar. This has got to be it. It was separated from it’s matching kylix. Item 6667 is listed in the archives at Torchwood 3. Did we finish getting Project Indigo up and running?” He asks her._

_They’ve been at this for hours. Grace, Elle, and Chantelle are thankfully asleep in their quarters while she and William are looking for more clues about Pandora’s Box._

_“Hmmm?” She asks him. She’s now observing dead bodies floating on the river Thames, head to foot, foot to head, bodies bouncing into docked boats._

_“Please stop watching those. There is nothing in those images that are going to help us deal with atrocity. All we can do is focus on what they’re after and how we can use it to exploit their weaknesses and stop them from hurting anyone else.”_

_“Right, I’m just.” Rose looks over at him, and he gently smiles at her, his blue eyes soft even after all that has happened._

_“I know we don’t discuss it much,” William starts, “but you know I still see and hear everything, all is, was and could potentially be?” he rests his curly head on his hand, his elbow resting on the table they are sharing._

_“Mmhmm,” she acknowledges, and out of habit, she reaches for her TARDIS key that she still wears around her neck. “I mean, I knew after I continued to have visions away from the influence of the TARDIS. I can only presume that it’s the same for you.”_

_“Right, so you know that, if there was nothing I could do to stop this, that there wasn’t much, you could have done either.”_

_“Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth.” She scoffs, “Sounds kind of ridiculous now, doesn’t it? Like some sort of cruel punishment.”_

_She suddenly realizes how exhausted she is and lays her head on the table, her hands outstretched in front of her. “He would be so ashamed of how I mussed this up.”_

_“Rose,” William says, taking her hand. “There is a vast difference between knowing the future and being able to prevent it. If he was anything but proud of you, then he wasn’t worth your time.”_

“To imagine we had the means to all along, that the entire fable of Pandora’s Box was based on their existence.” The Doctor’s surprised that the humans had found the Box Of Pandora since it was never a box, to begin with.

“But fables and legends always hold some truth; all fairytales come to fruition for a reason.”

Fruition? Did Rose use words like fruition? He thinks to himself. She went back to school, became the leader of a secret government organization, and went on without him. He feels his pain and guilt ease, knowing he didn’t leave her behind to wither away, that although she had gone through hell, she survived. Her wounds were buried, but they— hopefully, healed.

“It was decided that one of our senior advisors, whom I will refer to in these briefings as W., would test Project Indigo and retrieve item 6667 from Torchwood Three. Next, the Glarecox invaded.”

_A few calls later and consultation with personnel, Project Indigo gates are up and running at Torchwood Three and are ready to receive William and take him directly to Anesidora Jar. Grace is present to see William off._

_“Now, don’t go getting too weepy on me, darling,” he tells Grace, “I shouldn’t be longer than an hour tops.”_

_" **If** you make it through the gates, I’m aware they hadn’t gone into human trials yet, William,” Grace whispers ferociously at him. He chuckles and cups her face. _

_“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not all human, isn’t it?” he tells her before kissing her chastely. Usually, they reserve these moments to themselves behind closed doors, but time is of the essence here, and Rose is helping to get the rest of the staff organized on both sides of the gate, so the transition is as smooth as possible. Paramedics are waiting at Torchwood 3 if anything is going wrong when he crosses over, but that’s not enough to satiate Grace’s growing concern._

_“Please, please promise me you’re coming back.”_

“... How were we to know that the Sontaran had traded technologies with the Glarecox...”

_William looks back at Grace one last time before he steps into an upright pod meant to take him to Torchwood Three, but as they watch him fade away, a different entity stands in his place. A jumble of colours moving is all the crew can see, slowly creeping back towards the doors as the door to the pod opens and out steps an eight-foot-tall alien, his head scaled and spiked, wearing armour._

The Doctor watches as she shakes her head a little, her eyes dropping from his face. Bile rises to his throat as he realizes that he left her here and left her here, thinking that she was safe. The world around him starts to spin as his guilt creeps up the back of his neck for all the moments she didn’t cross his mind, for all the days that he was happy with Martha or was content thinking that Rose was ‘living a fantastic life.’ Was it in those moments that she cried out in torment for losing her mother? Was it then that she watched as women and children lay dead in the streets? She had had several years of harmony before everything she knew was taken away from her. But he can’t turn the projection off. Even in the Zepplin’s privacy, he finds he has to follow through even if there is no one to judge him. He does it because he owes her that much.

“The Glarecox’s are known as a war species, their entire culture revolving around new ways to derive torture and bedlam. They thrive on killing and literally have the stomach to drink the blood of their enemies. Let it be made very clear that there was no ulterior reason for their decent on mankind. They were not starved for resources. They were not afraid of our technologies. They had no motive other than killing, and they had come for payback. The only way we escaped them the first time was by closing the box.”

_“How you doing over there, Grace?” Rose inquires. They are both being held up by additional Glarcoxian soldiers, their arms restrained. Rose can barely see out her left eye, her face slick with blood from a wound on the left side of her head._

_She hears a gurgle before Grace spits out gobs of her own blood. “Never better.”_

_Rose tries to assess the situation. Three dead in the room, Grace looks to be bleeding more than she is, which is not a good sign. Rose’s only silver lining is that she knows Elle and Chantelle are locked in the panic room. It was the only thing Rose could do before she had been picked up by the Glarecox General and thrown across the room. Since then, standing on her own hasn’t been possible, which may be why the two soldiers seem to hold her up._

_The Glarecox General speaks in an alien language with other soldiers that came through the portal a few minutes ago, giving them a reprieve for a moment from their torturer._

_“Silence!” the brute to her left demand, using his free hand to back up his barked orders. The blades on the back of his glove slice through her cheek, blood flowing down her face._

_The General has overheard the exchange and walks back towards Rose. He grabs her by the hair and lifts her head to meet his steely gaze._

_“You’re leaking all over my floor.”_

_“Your floor? I don’t remember signing it over to you.” Blood flows down the back of the throat, and she tries to not vomit. “You have to be able to get through the rest of the building’s strongholds before Torchwood falls, and only I can give the signal to unseal this area.” Too much blood, she chooses to spit on the floor instead of swallowing, sullying the General’s boots._

_She meets his glare before adding, “So, jog on.”_

_The General regards her for a few moments before a sinister creeping smirk appears on his face. He releases his hold on her head. “You constantly surprise me with your tenacity.”_

_“You constantly surprise me with your English. How’d you manage night school?” The soldiers holding her up squeeze her arms tighter, causing her to wince against her will._

_“Night School?” Grace croaks out with a hint of admonishment._

_“I’m not necessarily at my best right now,” Rose reminds her companion._

_The General nods at Rose before taking a few steps away from her. “Too true, Director Tyler, you ARE the only one we need to unseal this area of the building without brute force.”_

_Pulling a blade from his gauntlet, Rose watches as he moves away from her towards Grace._

_“Nononono_ — _"_

_But her pleas fall on deaf ears as he slides the blade in between Grace’s ribcage. A sharp intake of breath is all Rose hears before the blade’s squishing sounds being removed, and plunging in again can be heard._

_Knife wounds sound nothing like they do in film and television. Rose has learned this rather quickly; she started her lesson when she watched the light fade from Grace’s eyes. She continued to understand even more when the General began holding the blade against her skull, and she could hear it scraping against her from the inside of her head._

_She doesn’t know how she could possibly be still alive. Everything is a blur, and she doesn’t know how long William has been gone or how many times she has lost consciousness. But something woke her._

_She felt like she was slick in the oily black of the abyss when a rope of sound reaches her. It sounds familiar and safe, like a warm blanket. The scraping against her head stops._

_“What is the meaning of this?!” The Glarecox General asks._

~***~

* * *

“Once our top advisor retrieved the Box Of Pandora, he was detained by trying to Torchwood Three as they created a cloaking agent to hide the coordinates of the teleportation portals of Project Indigo. The Glarecox were able to track where location A in the teleportation was and hack into it, rendering it an open doorway. Once Torchwood Three was safe, W. was able to infiltrate Torchwood 1 with the item.

_Light is filling the room, the screams of the Glarecox around her, but he still doesn’t move. His back is to her, his curls picking up tendrils of light as it ebbs and flows through the room. The hands holding her up are gone now, and she braces herself to fall to the floor gracelessly. Yet she feels nothing, no crash, or crunch, no pain._

_She looks over at Grace’s face, and her eyes look greyed over, her skin a sickly blue tinge. How long had she been dead?_

“Once the Box Of Pandora was opened, it was as if,” the Doctor studies as Rose searches for the words to finish her thought. “There is no current discernable explanation for what happened next. Glarecox soldiers that were closest to the item were atomized and sucked into the box while soldiers across the world crumpled and turned to ash. Or so I was told. I missed the last of the fighting, as I had been wounded in battle.”

So she had physical scars as well as emotional. Why would he be surprised by that? After all, she had always been a hands-on person. He could remember the countless times she had leaped in head first, damning the consequences of their adventures.

_How many times now? This cannot be the first time, the first time Rose has died, the first time she has felt the warm glow of amber take over in her body and flow from her? She’s lying on the floor trying to move and is not surprised by the results. She accepted hours ago, or was it days ago? That her spine was most likely broken. No, it would have had to only be hours; there’s no way she could have lived this long with the amount of torture they were putting her through. But as she tries to deduce the facts, she feels herself slipping away. Her own light is mingling with the external one flowing from William’s hands. Time is reclaiming the small piece of herself that had been trapped in the jar. They keep sticking her in things, in jars, inside boxes, trees of knowledge. They call them clocks, Time Machines, or Pandora’s Box, but they never ask her what she wants. She knows what she wants. What she’s always wanted._

_“William,” she coughs, blood flowing past her lips and rolling down the side of her mouth to the cold floor below her. He rolls over to look at her, his blue eyes warm and gentle._

“The Pandora’s Box has been sealed indefinitely and placed within Torchwood’s High Alert Materials Vault located at Torchwood One. Its item number is still 6667. However, the box has additional safety protocols surrounding it due to its power.”

_The Vortex flows from her, from fingertips, eyes, strands of her hair. She feels the light leaving her at the same speed as what feels like her life force. But it is touching him now; she can hear the Vortex’s music as it wraps itself around Grace._

_This isn’t the one though, Time knows, this isn’t hers, but he looks and sounds like hers from years before. If she is ever going to end this, she needs to bring Grace back, but not like Jack. No one should ever have to live like that. She should know._

“It has been decided by the Board of Directors that the Deputy Director should be the only human with the access codes to these particular vaults. End Transmission.”

He closes his eyes as Rose's face disappears, her image leaving him feeling empty. Why is he doing this? What good could possibly come from finding the key? What was he trying to accomplish? But he knows the answer, an answer that he is too afraid to admit.

He still needs her.

Yet, for all his passion and resolve, he still does not want to know what happened here on this world. A truth that if he were able to see, he would know was only the beginning of what brought them here.

A time war.


	18. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What I feel most have been waiting for, or at least the beginning of it!

"That's a pretty serious prescription Rosalina, is it? One that a psychiatrist would prescribe." Her physician sits across from her folding his arms over his broad chest.

Slowly, Rose inhales and exhales, clenching and relaxing her fists on her lap. She places them in her pockets before continuing. "I know, and I know it's been hard to get you my records from my last Doctor in Japan, but I can assure you that I use them only when necessary in case of... attack."

She hopes she doesn't have to use the psychic paper that she is currently rubbing her thumb along in her pocket. It's old and tattered at the edges. She has two pristine sheets set aside at home in a particular folder, but this was his, and she told herself she would use it till it tore or ceased working. No, she shouldn't use it yet; she finds asking politely is always better than creating a scene when attempting to stay off the rest of the world's radar.

Her practitioner regards her for a few moments before sighing. "I'm only prescribing you 30 pills, Miss Tigh, and if you find that they don't last you more than six months, then I suggest we find you a doctor that will help you deal with these attacks without the need of medicinal intervention."

She thanks the man and takes the prescription from his hands, sighing in relief. She hopes she will not need them again for a very long time.

~***~

* * *

_"Doctor?" she enquires, and he looks up from the novel he's reading and down to the other end of the sofa where she lies. Her feet are in his lap, and her book is on her own, her blonde hair in pigtails. He marvels at how they got into their current position without him noticing._

_"Yes, Rose?" he responds, refraining from calling her darling or sweetheart. It's been relatively easy, in truth, because he cherishes her name more than any pet name he could imagine, thinking of how a rose blooms. How her smile makes his hearts speed up, how her warmth gives him goosebumps, of how he could never get tired of saying it… Rose, Rose, a rose by any other name may smell as sweet. He feels grateful that she was so aptly christened._

_"Earlier, before…" Rose commences while her feet shift in his lap, and he secretly groans. This is too domestic; he's allowed Rose in too much, allowed her to think this was okay. She's a Rose alright, and just like any other flower, she's taken root in him, she's grown in time, and if she ever left, if she was ever torn away from him, it might ruin him._

_"You said you were a dad once."_

_And there it is— she finally found it within herself to ask. He had hoped that she would forget that. He hadn't unwittingly let it slip no, but it hadn't been his intention for her to dwell on the remark. He finds it curious how most of his female companions always want more erudition, still requiring to learn more, and when he finally gives them said knowledge, they always find the need to discuss it, to hash it out in excruciatingly long detail._

_"Yes, I did," his attention now entirely given to her, and he sees her begin to wilt under his gaze, to withdraw and pull back from her advance, and he's ashamed to realize he's relieved. Assuming that the conversation is over, he turns to the volume in his hands._

_"Did you have a daughter or a son?" he hears her question, and he recoils at the strength of conviction in her words. She no longer frets in asking him private information because he no longer denies her these requests— where has he gone wrong? This is why he has rules._

_He waits a moment, trying to hold out, perhaps feigning that he didn't hear her words, but he can feel her waiting patiently. She isn't angry that he never told her— not happy, but not embittered._

_"I had a son," he tells her, glancing up from the pages to briefly look at her, his lips quirking up at the corners the way they do when he wants to distract her before lowering his head to the book once more. He senses her need to discover more, her desire to challenge him; it screams at him in enormous volumes, even in the silence. He inhales deeply, knowing that she yearns for knowledge that only he can provide._

**_Perhaps there is another type of education you could provide her Time Lord,_ ** _he thinks, before he can stop that particular thought. A blush crawls over his cheeks._

_"I had a granddaughter, as well. Her name was Susan," and it is out of his mouth before he even discerns what he's saying. There is a burst of warmth from her, the heat of her satisfaction wrapping him in a dizzying cocoon._

_"Susan, that's a little human," she's chuckling as she leans against the sofa's cushions. His hearts beat faster as thoughts sweep over him, feelings that he's been trying to so carefully block for so long. He doesn't answer her, doesn't know what to say or how to say it. He's afraid of looking at her, afraid of letting himself look her that way. She doesn't realize how much danger she's in right now, how much danger they both are in if he does._

_He doesn't do domestic for a reason._

_"I always wanted to name my daughter from a fairytale. Something like Ella, Belle or Jasmine."_

_"Those are Disney names," he comments, still not lifting his gaze from his book._

_"Oi! Nothin' wrong with Disney names. Disney makes most of their princesses strong women," she tells him, turning back to her own novel._

_"Nothing wrong at all except butchering fairytales by adding talking appliances and completely disregarding all original plot," he says, before adding, "and strong women? Really?"_

_"Stronger than original fairytales let them be! In some cases, anyhow, can we not just agree that most fairytales are problematic for numerous reasons?" She chastises with a scoffed look on her face, her smile already creeping in._

_"What if it's a boy?"_

_"Then it's going to be Pete, for my dad," she replies, and he is finally pacified enough that he can sneak a peek at her. As he glances at her innocent smile, how she's utterly at peace lying there, feet on top of him, completely unaware of his desires, he feels the need to distance himself from her even more._

_"And when do you plan on having these children?" he asks, his stare piercing, his resolve absolute. His inquiry catches her off guard, and he sees the way she looks up at him, bewildered and confused. He examines the damage in her eyes, recognizing that little Pete or Ella will never come to be as long as she's with **him**. She smiles wistfully before turning back to the pages of her book. _

_"Well, it was only a fairytale anyway," she responds, and they both read on in silence._

When he reopens his eyes, he discerns that the plane has stopped moving— that he's slept his way over the Atlantic. He peels off the red tie that's stuck to his face before getting up from his seat. He heads to the cockpit to see what is going on.

"Just refuelling, Doctor, then we'll be on our way."

He nods to the pilots before returning to the back of the plane and slumping down. He's spent, so tired of not remembering what is or isn't real and what is going on, weary of being perpetually confused, drained from not knowing how long it's been since this all started. As he shuts his eyes, he floats into a peaceful rest. Before dreaming, the chiming sound of a little girl's laughter is all he hears.

~***~

* * *

_"What's wrong, Elle?" Rose asks her sister as she is folding laundry._

_"I hate this, this stupid unihorn puzzle!" Elle laments, exasperated, flinging her fists down against the coffee table. It makes the puzzle jump and scatters a little._

_Rose sighs, drops the laundry from her hands onto the sofa behind them and sits down with Elle._

_"Why is it stupid?"_

_"Because none of it makes sense. I keep trying to put it together, but I can only make chunks of it, chunks that don't line up or make a picture, they are all just bits and pieces."_

_They stare at the chunks together. Rose takes the unsatisfied and tired Elle into her arms as she looks down at the partially completed activity._

_"Elle," she starts. "Puzzles are a lot like stories. The pieces and fragments don't make a lot of sense at first, but once you get two big enough pieces together, they start to make sense."_

_"But this puzzle's missing pieces. It will never be a horsie."_

_"Just because it's missing a few pieces here and there doesn't mean you won't be able to see the unicorn, or… horsie. Just keep building on the two different sides, and then when they're ready, put them together. Once you do, the other pieces will begin to fall into place."_

The thing about memories is that the harder you try to retain them, the faster they slip through your fingers, like precious grains of sand, until all that is left is words— words that don't really mean a thing. Notions like "Elle's hair was soft," or "Although she didn't look it, her mum could bake the best chocolate chip cookies she has ever had," even, "his eyes always made her feel warm and safe, but her favourite was when they were brown."

When she used to know what it was to feel warm and safe.

She sits in the playground with her students and Nancy, her aide, fiddling with the TARDIS key around her throat as she runs through the last few days in her head. It started with the headache the morning she dropped Peter off at school, the headache that only escalated until she had a full-blown attack, an attack on scale with the one she suffered over ninety years ago. It nearly killed her to restart her system, and even then, soon, she will be immune to it, and then what will she do?

She tries not to think about it now, with her children chasing each other in the playground. But as the key twirls between her two fingers, she can't help but drift into thoughts and feelings. The Ouroboros told her that she would experience resistance in her body and told her it would precede the great battle. Soon William would come back for Peter, then the war would commence, and then, if the prophecy rang true, she would no longer have a purpose.

Sighing, she lets the key go and leans into her hands as she sits there, watching. Usually, she'd be right in there, playing with them, laughing and singing, but she can't bring herself to try, can't bring herself to admit defeat against the battle she's waging.

She knows he's coming, knows that the clock is running out, and maybe that was what it was always supposed to do. Perhaps William was supposed to return for his son just before she became a complete basket case. She had no unique role in the prophecy. Once she gave Peter back, she became an expendable component, just like Grace did.

Poor Grace.

It occurs to her that maybe once the story really begins, her story will finally end.

But then again, maybe not.

~***~

* * *

It's a piece of a bowl.

A scrap fragment that to anyone else may appear to be nothing, but to Martha, it's enough to set the tears in motion once more. It's moments like this that she could really believe in the old proverb, "One man's trash is another man's treasure," if she wasn't too proud.

But who is she trying to fool? She was a tag-along, and it's a bowl. It's no longer a symbol of their friendship, no longer a token of the adventure they partook in that day and every day after.

It's just a piece of bowl. A bit of bowl that has sentiment ascribed, one that she can't let go of, so she holds it and cries silently when she hears a knock on her door.

"Come in."

"Hey," she hears Jack say tenderly, quietly standing at the entrance. "Planning on a big trip?"

"Yeah," she snorts. "It's called going home."

Roughly, she begins to stuff the bowl fragment into her pack and gasps when it breaks. Before they have time to react, she throws the piece in her hand against the wall, watching as it breaks into more pieces.

"I hated the colour motif anyways," Jack affirms, closing the door behind him. She peers up with regret and a bit of gratitude in her eyes. He beams at her, sitting down beside her and taking her hand in his.

"This isn't good," he sighs, checking the cut to see how bad it is.

"Ah, it's merely a scratch. No harm done."

"I wasn't talking about your hand."

Martha pulls away, looks up into his eyes, and sees genuine concern there, something she doesn't understand. From the first moment she met Jack, she's found him a bit flash for her tastes, a little flirty, a little charming. She knew a guy like that once; he broke her heart in school. It's not that she doesn't like him. It's that she is wary of opening up to him, letting him in. She's he'll do just say what she want's to hear. She's afraid he'll move on.

"So why don't you tell me: why seventeenth-century china?" Jack prods her gently, placing her bag to the side. She stares out ahead of her, unable to meet his eyes.

"It's a long story," is all she can say before turning back to the bag.

"That's actually quite interesting because you see… I have this funny quirk, and it works out that I have A LOT of free time on my hands, so please feel free to tell me every little detail."

She chuckles soundlessly and looks at him, sitting beside her, a sly and charming grin on his face. She looks at him, perhaps genuinely seeing him for the first time, and she finds herself looking past the apparent gorgeousness, the charm, the persona, and sees him.

All she sees is emptiness.

"I may understand better than you think," he adds, the grin slowly fading, melting more into sincerity.

"I don't love him," she starts. "If that's what you think. Well, I do, but it's not a romantic 'I'd die without him' kind of love. Not the love he has for Rose."

She looks away at the cut in her hand, where the blood is already beginning to scab, "I'm not in love with him. But it doesn't mean that I don't feel—"

"Jealous?"

"No, I don't feel that. Unless…"

"Unless you're absolutely terrified that the door may indeed hit you on the ass on your way out," he offers. He takes her hand and reaches over her to the bag that she has on the ground. As a student doctor, she's always been responsible enough to carry a small first aid kit on her at all times, and she watches as he pulls it out and grabs a large wrap bandage.

Martha sighs, frustrated. "But it's not jealousy, it's envy. And don't tell me they're the same,' cuz they're not. Jealousy would be that I hated them both and lacked understanding. I understand entirely what's happening, and I can't help… at the situation…"

They both sit in silence for a moment. Martha cradles her wounded hand, her legs crossed in front of her.

"I never lied to myself and thought it would last forever. I just thought I'd matter a little more."

And there, she had said it. Said precisely how she felt to a complete stranger. A stranger who knew the feeling better than anyone else she could have told it.

"This is going to be hard for me to say," Jack starts. "And probably more than anything, hard for you to take seriously because I'm sure you've heard it all before. But I know. I know how you feel, how you hurt inside, and how although he may not be your lover, it doesn't mean he's not your world. When I first met him— met them. I knew from the first moment, there was no way that I was ever going to mean as much to him as she did."

Again, the silence fills the room, and she realizes he wasn't lying when he said that it was going to be hard for her to listen. He's finished wrapping her hand now, and the pressure of the bandage is felt as her heartbeat pounds.

"What you have to understand is that just because he's in love with her, it doesn't mean that he doesn't love you," he says, taking her face in his hands, making her look in his eyes.

"It may seem small or pathetic in comparison, but he does, and he does more than he ever loved me. He does more than he probably loved some of the others. But we all have to be grateful for the little piece we get, because if we aren't, then we missed the whole point, didn't we?"

With that, Jack kisses her forehead before getting up and slowly exiting the room. After a few moments, Martha puts the rest of the bowl back into her backpack.

It may be just a broken bowl, but she's happy with her little piece.

~***~

* * *

He walks through the town, mid-morning, watching as life goes on around him. It's been a long while, a very long while now, that he's been left to his own devices, and he takes the opportunity to quietly observe. Fallen leaves bluster around him as he takes even strides. The last time he checked, the key was here; he just had to follow his own senses. Romana refused to let him take the TARDIS, but she didn't refuse to let him take the sonic screwdriver, which served more purposes now than it did in their time. Turning on the tracking device, he listens to the sporadic beeping it makes.

North, South, East, or West?

He goes North.

Following his feet to wherever they take him, he feels the autumn wind beat against him as he gets closer and closer to his goal. He strolls till he hits a beach, the lake crashing against the sand as people stroll down the boardwalk, laughing and minding their own business. Following the blipping, he turns west and walks down the beach, watching the waves flow towards him, the breeze hitting his coat, sending it flying. He closes his eyes and feels the sun against his face, how the world smells fresh and new, the sound of children laughing.

Opening his eyes, he follows the sound of it, the chiming of their voices falling in time with the sonic screwdriver, both hurried and loud. Turning the screwdriver off, he crosses the street to the park and nearly stops dead when he realizes what he sees.

~***~

* * *

Rose's given up and given in to the kids around her as she spins them around playfully while Nancy pushes two of them on swings. After all these years, she's been a diplomat, a director, and a teacher many times. Teachers seem to be the easiest to slip in and out of as she moves from country to country. She's taught all ages as well, adults, teenagers, adolescents, but now she's trying much younger. Rose finds herself enjoying it. She tells them fantastic stories, takes them to faraway places in their imagination. She sometimes thinks it probably helped her patience to raise a child that ages slower than normal humans, but she doesn't dwell on it.

"Miss Tigh, I'm dizzy!" one of her students says and giggles. Rose places them on their feet and stands up straight, closing her eyes as the sun shines down on her face; She feels it, feels its heat.

But it's too warm, something's wrong. She feels her key begin to blaze against her skin, warm and tingling, but it doesn't burn. Instead, she feels her whole body freeze up as the hair on the back of her neck stands on end.

She knows.

She knows once she turns around that she's not going to believe what she sees, and it's almost like the monster in the closet: if you pretend it's not there, it may go away. It's too bad that she was never a cautious child; she may have been able to spare herself. But she just can't help it, can't help sating that curiosity, help to solve that mystery. It was there before he ever took her away in the magical blue box; it was a dormant gene, just ready to rebel.

And so she turns.

  
  


~***~

* * *

The Doctor observes two young women engaged with ten or so small children. When he catches her profile, his own reality doesn't seem to exist. He gazes, mouth agape as her auburn hair blows freely behind her, her smile winsome and gentle as she spins them about, laughing. There he stands as his world crumbles around him, the sight of her too profound to walk away from.

It would be wise to do, he realizes, to just walk away while he still can. To only spare himself the vexation, so that he didn't have to fight himself to not just reach out and crumple her to him, push back one of her locks from her eyes and never let her go.

A mistake.

One, he must rectify.

And it's while he's hesitating about whether to step forward or backwards that she looks up and makes eye contact with him; he realizes that he was naïve to what the feeling as if he thought he knew fear before. Or maybe this is all completely new. 

New New York. 

New New Doctor. 

New New fears.

She appears to be as startled as he knows he must, which provokes him to think crazy and irrational possibilities. _She knows him_ , but how? 

Unless she was… But that's impossible. A hundred years in the future, so she's dead.

Right?

Then again, it was believed to be impossible to come back to this place, to Pete's World.

He's paralyzed as he observes her tell the children to wait there. Ensnared as he regards her, tuck her hair behind her ear, smiling briefly at him as she advances. 

Breathe. It's a repetitive function that everybody has to do to live.

She tentatively nears him, so weary and cautious while a thousand things race through his mind. His heart begins to beat with a liveliness he hasn't known in weeks, probably months. Is it possible? Could it really be? 

Is this his Rose?

"William?" 

  
~***~

* * *

Rose doesn't know why she bothered asking. It's just been so long since she's seen him last that it seems to be the most suitable response to his impromptu presence. He's regenerated since the last time she's seen him; brown eyes replace blue, and she feels her own go misty, realizing that this one, he's still partial to suits.

Before she understands what she's doing, she draws him into her embrace and holds him close. She let go of her anger years ago, let go of the pain she and William had caused each other, and she had finally accepted their relationship for what it was.

"It's been _so long_ ," she states, pressing him close, not shocked by his unresponsiveness. She can comprehend how awkward it must be for him. The last time they saw each other— well, they barely heeded one another. They were hardly on speaking terms for that matter. Therefore, her comfort with his arrival _must_ be confusing.

Pulling back, she beams up at him, attentively trying to read his reactions. He gazes down at her, his eyes empty and dark.

She senses he is still lost, still searching for the antidote to his misery; obviously, he still misses Grace.

"Are you okay?" her palms linger on his arms. He peers down at the contact, then back up at her and nods slowly.

"I'm just a bit confused, is all," he starts, a melancholy smile spreading along his face. "Rose?"

She continues her search for some sign of recollection, but she's rusty. After all, it's been a century. "One minute," she whispers as she leans in and squeezes William's elbow gently. He breathes in deeply and seems to stumble on his feet.

"Are you okay?" Her concern written in her voice, and as she moves closer to steady him, he backs away momentarily. 

"I will be. Go ahead," and he pushes his fists deep into his pockets and watches as she walks back over to her co-worker. "I have to go."

Nancy looks past Rose's shoulder at the stranger then back to Rose, concern etched into her face.

"Is it an emergency?"

Rose nods, and Nancy sighs, "It's about Peter, isn't it?"

"Aww, see you already know me so well," Rose answers, embracing the other woman then announcing goodbye to the children. Some gather around her knees, clutching her legs before running off to play.

"Goodbye, Miss Tigh!" the voices all cry out at different intervals while she picks up her bag and begins her trek back to where he is idling.

"You owe me one, Rose!" Nancy calls to her, and it doesn't slip past her that he cringes at the mention of her name. Rose lets it go.

"Let's go. Our apartment is only four blocks away from here." She says, takes his hand, and pats it gently. It's clear to her he's recently regenerated, his thoughts muddled and confused, and that's the only reason why he squeezes her hand the whole way back to her apartment. His palms sweaty and gawks at her like he did when they first met. That's why he cringed at her name and asked her who she is.

After all, it's the only option that could make sense.


	19. Password

The Doctor and Rose convene in her kitchen, and he watches as she prepares sandwiches. She had made the tea first, working her way around the tiny room while he has an opportunity to observe her dwellings. It’s modest, and she doesn’t have much set up, judging by the crates lying in the corridor and living room, a mark that she’s still in transition. The quiet between them has been long and dense. Rosalina Tigh, a woman who answers to the name Rose. But is she his? How does he suggest such a thing without doing any more harm to the timelines? How does he accept that it’s probably not her? After all this searching, all this emotional turmoil, how does he deal with the fact that the beacon was possibly never meant for him, but for alternate Doctor?

“Drink your tea before it gets cold,” she murmurs, placing a sandwich in front of him.

He smiles at her briefly, picking up the cup and sipping its contents. She’s prepared it the way he has since his last regeneration, no milk, three sugar. Diabetes in a cup, and it’s enough to make his hand tremble as he places the cup back on its saucer. It’s reasonable to assume other versions of him appreciate their tea made the same way. He tries to do the mathematics in his head.

She exhales slowly as she sits down across from him, placing her plate on the table. Meeting his eyes, she smiles briefly before biting into her sandwich before taking a sip of her tea. Their walk had been brief as she let him into the apartment, and now he waits, waits for a reason, waits for an explanation, waits for it with scarce patience left.

“Rose?” irritated that he has to ask, annoyed at himself for allowing this amount of time to pass with no actual resolution. He should have left her post haste, ere he fell deeper down the rabbit hole. It would have been far less painful than this.

“Mmm?” she looks up from her plate, pushing a curly strand of hair out of her face. He looks into her green eyes, edged in brown, for a clue, any hint that she’s old and wise and possibly his. All he sees is her readiness, how she’s abiding, and in truth, he can’t stay the connection long.

“What are we doing?” he rubs his face. So much rest and still so tired, he senses it must be his old age. Sighing, Rose places the sandwich down and presses the crumbs on her fingers to her lips. As he waits for a response, the silence continues, any indication that she’s going to explain what’s going on here, why she brought him back, what they’re waiting for. He watches as she calmly looks up at him, hitting him full force with eyes that terrify him in their intensity, and it seems as though time slows to a halt. She holds sorrow and rage, depths of unfathomable magnitude in those ever-changing orbs.

“We’re waiting. I know that has never been one of your strong suits, especially in this... form. I know you don’t know the meaning of the word, but we wait. We wait till you see Peter, we wait till you start to remember, and from there, we’ll figure out what to do. Together.” Her eyebrows raised in a non-committal action before she places her hand over his.

“Who’s Peter?”

“And that,” She chuckles, “is why we wait.” The joining of their hands is neither warm nor cold. Her body’s temperature is no different than his. He nods his head, knowing there’s not a lot he can do. It’s apparent to him there was another Doctor for her, this Rose. Obviously, she thinks he’s this _William_ , and when she figures it out, he’ll have to explain the circumstances, take the verbal beating he’s sure to receive and bow out gracefully. But this is it, this is the last Rose. He’s finished; he’ll never look for her again. He doesn’t think he can take it any longer.

So he sits there, and he waits because he doesn’t want to let go and doesn’t want to admit that this Rose is not his. He wants to pretend.

For a few hours, he wants to take the slow path.

~***~

_“Everywhere, tall buildings, pyramids— cathedrals, everywhere… waiting, waiting, waiting.”_

_“And where is he?”_

_“Waiting.”_

_“But you can’t go on like that. It isn’t right for you...”_

“Martha?” a low voice asks just beyond her door. She had been brushing her hair as she viewed the film, her jim-jams on so that she could go to bed right after. She pauses it and sighs.

“Come in,” she responds, turning to see the door creak open. Jack and Fren pop their heads in, taking a peek at what she’s up to.

" _An Affair to Remember!_ ” Jack exclaims, excitedly entering her room and sitting beside her on the bed. He takes the popcorn from her lap and places it on his own.

“Deborah Kerr, Cary Grant. Stunning movie.”

“I prefer _Love Story,_ but I couldn’t find it,” she replies. Surprise and suspicion line her voice. “What— what are you doing?”

“Well, Torchwood’s gone home for the night, Madame President decided to come back here to run more tests, and Anais is— well, being Anais. We were bored,” Fren tells her, still standing at her door.

“So you both decided to pick on me?” she asks, stealing her bowl back from Jack’s lap.

“Not pick on, enjoy in the delightful company of. Martha, it seems you really have no faith in me some days.” Jack responds before adding, “It’s like you talk to the Doctor too much.”

“What about the other Time Lords, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?”

“I’m sensing some hostility.” Jack crunches out between his chewed popcorn.

“They asked me if I was the Doctor’s pet. How would you feel?” she demands, taking a handful from the bowl.

“The ladies of team Beta have gone back to area of operations to retrieve information gathered over the last few months to give to Madame President,” Fren answers, before making an awkward face at Martha and rolling her eyes. They smile at each other, and the tension eases.

Groaning, she hands Jack back the bowl, scooting over and motioning for Fren to come to sit on the bed with her.

“Let me finish the film before you both decide to drag me out into this godforsaken world.”

As she turns to grab her remote, her mind seizes, as images and emotions are burned into it. The misery is like an ice bath on her nerves, eating away at her limbs, body, and soul, devouring her sanity and ability to reason.

All she knows is to hold her barriers against its onslaught as she falls against her bed. She sees Jack’s concerned face above her own, inaudible words falling from his lips while Fren holds her head, fingers resting on her temples as she jerks and spasms.

_Martha, can you hear me?_

**_Fren, get out of here! I never gave you—_ **

_I know, but I can help you, do you want that? Do you want me to help you through the pain?_

**_Please, please help me._ **

_You need to relax— stop blocking the images, let them flow through you. Trust me._

**_I can’t, I’m afraid_ ** _._

_Don’t be afraid. I’ll be right here to help you through it. I’ll never let go of contact._

She feels similar to water, a conductive, as she lets go, and she visualizes a Dalek, black and ominous. Martha has never seen one before, but she knows what it is from the Doctor’s brief description.

Then there’s Rose.

Rose glowing.

Rose dying.

Rose is burning up like a star, amber and light and divine.

Martha sees weird symbols that seem all too familiar.

Aliens that look like snakes chanting in the ocean.

The wolf of the mountain.

Jotunn, they call her.

They are searing a brand into the back of a woman’s neck.

An invasion.

She sees it all, sees the consequence, the sacrifice, and the lamb.

Martha knows she is his Rose.

His Rose is alive.

And it’s his Rose who’s going to die.

~***~

She’s older than she looks. How old the Doctor is not too sure. But he knows old when he sees it. It’s in her eyes, the way she holds her body, the resonance in her voice. Before him is the face of a woman who radiates youth on the cusp of twenties. No lines etch her features, and yet, she’s lost her accent.

He can only imagine how old.

He can’t ask, though; that may give it away. Whoever this Rose is, she’s lived beyond her years, and he can’t help but admire her, let himself open up, let himself love her in his own way for however long he can. So he sits there, both of them now having moved to the couch.

“Why nursery school?”

She laughs at the question, and he can hear the echoes of memories past weaved through the dulcet tones.

“Why not?” she replies as she rests her head on her hand, her elbow propped against the back of the sofa.

“Well, it just seems to me if you’re Dr. Rose Tyler of the Torchwood Institute,” he says, going out on a limb and using the information he acquired on the plane earlier. “Your qualifications could probably have served you better than a two-bedroom apartment in the middle of nowhere.”

“Three identities ago, I figured out it was easier to slip in and out as a teacher. Can move around after a few years at the end of the school year. Seems to suit me just fine. Besides, after you? Children are a breeze.” she quips, leaning over to sip her tea with smiling eyes.

“Now that’s not… that far off.”

She beams at him, her smile broad and tender, the light catching her face making her beauty seem ethereal.

“After I faked my death at Torchwood, I needed to keep a low profile. You knew that, so you made sure you had a tight reign on the people in the department of New Identities For Alien Lifeforms. There’s a Swiss bank that NIFAL deposits new identities in for field agents. It’s a safety deposit box that I have a key to. Being that Elle grew up to be a field agent and that we appear astonishingly alike, I would take her ID’s. Then one day, I was left a present. Two full sheets of psychic paper just in case I lost my original. It’s been enough to get us by.”

“Us?”

“Peter and I,” she responds. “And don’t ask. I’m not going to tell you. You’re just going to have to wait.”

He broods a bit at the notion she may have a companion or spouse, someone to share her life with. He grasps he has no reason to, that he would have desired for her to move on, to live a _fantastic_ life. But he can’t help himself.

He’s jealous.

“I’ve had a lot of different careers over the years. Before my ‘death,’ I earned my Ph.D. in communications and psychology, have a solid understanding of all the branches of physics. But even then, it was hard for me to apply those to jobs that wouldn’t get me noticed. For a while, I took jobs that didn’t require a lot of customer-service or public relations. I was a ghostwriter, an electrician— that ended badly—did some telemarketing and some housekeeping, and that’s only naming a very select few. Every career path requires me to go back and get more schooling. Teaching makes it easy to slip in and out of specific subject matter, different age groups. I taught English in Kyoto before moving here.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but being a preschool teacher isn’t that low profile of a job. Those kids will remember you forever.”

“Yeah, I know, the Earth is a very small place. I’ve had to be careful,” taking another sip of her tea.

“Then why do it?”

“Because I needed to. Their brutal honesty, ability to think outside the box, their creativity— I needed it, I craved it, and I missed it quite frankly. I can be myself and not feel like I’m being scrutinized. As for them remembering? It’s not a big deal anymore, anyway.”

“Why not?” he asks her curiously.

“Because I knew you’d come back.”

They sit there in silence as he thinks over what she’s just said. She’s been waiting for him all this time. How long has it been for her? If she’s been here since her Doctor left her— William, then is she over a century old? But he had been so sure that this was the world that he left his Rose on.

Is it possible that his Rose died, and a new Rose happened to get deposited on this rock? No, she talked of Elle, so she has to be the original Torchwood Rose. This divergent universe and Rose is so similar to his that it’s easier for him to pretend, more comfortable to maintain the lie he’s constructed around himself in hopes of finally finding peace. He can almost see it in her eyes, in the sound of her laugh. He’s been seeing her pop up in his realities and his dreams now for far too long, and it is never really _her_. And yet, here at her dining room table, he can almost be sure.

Almost.

“My question is, how’d you know to come back?”

“I heard your call,” he tells her simply, and he sees the sorrow in her eyes filling them like an empty cup. Hastily she looks away, the tears falling freely down her cheeks as she nods. No, she’s not as old as him, hasn’t had the same amount of time to build the walls to hide, the same he uses ninety-nine percent of the time. Give her time, and she’ll learn, maybe even teach him something.

“Right, from... from then. Of course. That would make sense. Silly me.”

He’s about to pull her in his arms, comfort her, indulge in smelling her hair. He’s about to do all these things, free of hesitation and restraint, when they both hear keys turning in the door before it opens and shuts.

He glances back at Rose, ready to question what is going on when he sees a boy no older than sixteen walks through the door, black locks falling in his eyes. He makes his way to the living room when he pauses at the sight of them sitting there.

“What’s going on?” the boy asks, never breaking eye contact with the stranger sitting on his couch.

The Doctor studies at Rose in confusion, wondering if this was who she said they were waiting for.

“Peter,” Rose starts. “This is your father.”

~***~

“Romana, what the hell was that?” Jack demands, marching into the console room. Fren is directly behind him, supporting Martha’s weight. Blood drips from Martha’s orifices.

“Martha just had a telepathic seizure, and I’m venturing something triggered it,” Jack tells her, his arms crossed as he stands there beside the Time Lord.

Romana’s face is guarded as she addresses the data, her skin gleaming blue from the screen.

“I’ve been going through Torchwood’s recordings, researching this world’s past wars and events. They endured a Glarecox invasion.”

“No,” Fren stops, still half-carrying Martha.

“What are the Glarecox?” Martha asks weakly, her head resting on Fren’s shoulder.

“The Glarecox are brutal totalitarians. They were designed as a plague to wipe out any humanoid race. It was said the great Rassilion captured their source of power, taratagenes…”

“What are taratagenes?” Jack questions, hands on his hips as he looks at Romana, then back to Fren. Martha sees the determination set in his jaw. If she weren’t currently so weak, she’d consider trying to sneak a peek into his mind. But she can’t do it, not after finding out what she knows now. What Fren knows now too. That Rose is here, and that she will ultimately die.

She’s going to have to talk to her about that.

“Fren?” Romana commands as she continues to sweep around the TARDIS console, punching in numbers and setting co-ordinates.

“Taratagenes are similar to nanogenes, but have more— damaging effects. They were what gave the Glarecox their corporeal form. Without them, they were gaseous and have no power over anything. With the taratagenes, they were virtually indestructible. Since their bodies were made up of only gas, the taratagenes creating their hard forms, they couldn’t be damaged with most conventional weapons.”

“Romana, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Jack persists.

“No time, need to find the Doctor.”

“I too want to know what the hell is going on,” Martha adds weakly as Fren places her in a chair and pushes her hair behind her ear. She sees the concern and worry in the Time Lord’s brown eyes, and Martha smiles weakly to reassure Fren she will be okay.

“Rassilion captured their taratagenes and kept them in a secure box, naming it the Anesidora Jar, or also known as the Box of—”

“Pandora?” Jack asks, his interest piqued.

“Yes. How did you know?” Fren asks, finally looking away from Martha.

“We have one, back on our Earth. I kept it in the vaults, never allowing anyone to open it.”

“Well, you possibly saved your Earth. Obviously, humans here weren’t advanced enough to prevent that from happening.” Romana snaps.

“Bet you ten quid that was a cheap shot at Rose,” Jack whispers to Martha, kneeling down beside her, wiping the blood off her ears.

“I’m not taking that bet,” Martha murmurs back, the discomfort slowly starting to ease away from her being.

“Spoil-sport.”

“Madame President, Jack wasn’t lying when he said that Martha’s… episode, that what happened was severe, I was sitting right—”

“Fren, NOT NOW. I have to get to the Doctor.”

“What’s going on?” Anais asks from the hallway.

“We don’t know,” Jack replies, lifting up from his position beside Martha to pace around the control room.

“You should go back to bed,” Fren murmurs to Martha, taking her hands in her own. “You’re weak and need rest.”

“I can’t,” Martha responds. “Not if we are going to see him. He needs to know. He needs to know what we know. I have to tell him.”

“And what is it we know?” Fren asks her, her voice tight and tender, condescending but understanding. “We know _nothing_. Not until we find out what _that_ was. It could have been a trap or residual effects of travelling through several different universes.”

Martha’s eyes burn, unable to hide the fact she’s hurt by Fren’s previous words. The young Time Lord sighs as Martha looks away, and she has to place her hand on Martha’s cheek to get her to look at her again.

“Martha, I’m not judging— all I’m saying is that until we know what’s really going on, maybe we should keep it to ourselves? Maybe we’ll just worry them for nothing, and I know you don’t want to do that.”

Martha nods her head in understanding, and Fren begins to pick her up from her chair to move her to her bedroom.

“Hold ON!” Romana shouts, pulling on levers and cables, turning bobbles and spinning wheels. The TARDIS begins her cry as they begin their travels. Not expecting the sudden jolt, and because she can barely move, Martha falls over onto Fren. Violently, they slide down the chair.

“I thought we weren’t going to leave until we knew for sure what was going on?” Jack says, his arms crossed as he stands his ground by the railing. Martha watches him from the comfort of Fren’s arms, his suspenders hanging around his waist, his shirt still tucked in.

“I know what’s going on, which is why we have to go. NOW.”

~***~

“That’s not my father,” Peter declares boldly, his hands in his pockets, observing the Doctor, mannerisms that reflect his own.

“I agree. I’m not his father,” he affirms, glancing back at Rose.

“Don’t be daft,” she tells Peter, “Of course he’s your father.” She stands and approaches the boy before lowering her voice. “I grasp it may be a little difficult for you. It appears that he’s regenerated recently. He may not look like you still remember him or even act like it. He may not even remember some things, but he is the same person at hearts.”

“I already told you once today, I’m not one of your five-year-olds at school, so don’t talk to me like one. It’s not regeneration, that’s not my father,” Peter states, his arms crossed, moving in front of Rose and driving her behind him.

“Password?” Peter proclaims.

Rose just stares at him, confused, “Dad and I created a password the last time I saw him. He said it was best if I... kept it to myself.” Peter mumbles.

The Doctor tries to reach out to Peter’s mind, see who he really is and how he knows so much, but he’s blocked out, the walls firmly placed.

“Please, Rose has psychic abilities too. I learned how to block when I was thirty,” Peter voice low, his face livid.

“This man isn’t my father, Rose, which means he’s been lying to you.”

The Doctor looks up at her face as it contorts from confusion to anger. He knows that all is lost, that no matter what he does, she will never trust him again.

And after they were getting so close.

He watches as Rose shakes her head no, placing her hands in a temple over her lips. He’s about to explain, about to admit his deceit, when the cry of the TARDIS begins to echo against the walls of the living room.

~***~

_“Tell me a story,” the little one asks while the Doctor propels her on the tire swing attached to the tree behind him. His chucks stay planted in the dirt as he uses his body weight to push the tire higher. He watches as her skin turn different shades against her white sundress and the purple sky._

_“Once upon a time, a boy met a girl. He asked her to spend her life with him, and they soon fell in love.”_

_“You always tell me this story.”_

_“Because this is **your** story.” _

_“But it’s such a dismal story. You never change the ending.”_

_Sighing, he proceeds to push the child on the swing, reflecting on her response. He can’t alter the ending because he never remembers it until they get to that part. By then_ — _it’s too late._

_“I feel like I’ve been here before,” he mutters. The scent of daffodils and wild lilies float under his nose as his trench blows in the breeze. But there is more this time, more than ever before. Rust and decay permeate the air around them, the ground wet beneath his feet. It reeks of autumn and memories of a place he thinks he once called home._

_“Maybe you have,” her reply is equally as quiet as she pumps her legs to take her higher and higher._

_“Don’t fall off.”_

_He notices her lack of shoes and how unhindered she seems, her hair flowing behind her as the wheel turns to face him._

_“I’m not afraid anymore…” he hears her voice, but the Doctor never sees her mouth move; her simper stays painted on her face. Her eyes glance his way, but she looks through him. He moves to the side and allows her to continue to pump her legs and reach the sky of her own volition._

_“It’s just, dreams can be memories, and memories are dreams in focus. I just don’t know if this has always been **just a dream.** ” _

_“Do you dream awake? About the wood?” his cherished little entity asks._

_“You’re hiding something from me, and it’s only a matter of time.” he humours her, “You may think you’re clever, but you forget I’m brilliant.”_

_“And you forget she named me for my brilliancy too.”_

_“You may be brilliant, but you definitely are not clear little one.”_

_The tire moves back and forth beside him, the warmth of the setting sun providing him with a sense of contentment._

_“You’ll figure it out, you always do. It’s just the way the cookie will crumble. You’ll tell the world to stop because you’ll want to get off, and it will obey, Time Lord.”_

_“I keep coming back here, searching, discerning that I should understand. I shouldn’t be letting you get away with this, getting away with hiding and deceiving us. I let you because I didn’t want to know the truth. But I want to know now, and I want you to tell me.”_

_“Be careful what you want for,” she counters. Her dress rippling past him, her throat producing delightful laughter, a portrait of her he is familiar with._

_“Wish for.” He corrects, gazing out on the horizon._

_“You hardly wish now, do you?”_

_“I wish you’d tell me why you keep drawing me here,” the Doctor laments, giving the swing a good push, “why she brings me here too…”_

_“I wish I could tell you.”_

_“Bad Claire. Bad Wolf.” He chastises, “I don’t know if this is a dream.”_

_He watches the horizon. The clouds pass by the setting sun, colours contrasting against the darkening sky; the scent of iron and dew overflows in his skull._

_He hears her laugh one more time before it all fades away._

_“What does it matter? Really, in the end?”_

“Doctor!” Jack shouts, and the Time Lord inhales sharply, his eyes opening as his chest convulses in repetitive motions. He chokes and splutters as his head screams in pain. His mouth tastes of blood.

“Jack,” he replies, realizing he’s on his back. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“We’ve never met like this,” Jack returns, moving his head in confusion.

“Really? Wonderful, now my memory is going as well as my sanity.”

He retains the last thing, but he can’t remember it all, not at the moment, because everything is hurting, his eyes, mind, body and soul. Rose. Her name pops into his head past the anguish and pain. He was with Rose, and something’s happened.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened here. Romana brought us here, we walked through the TARDIS door— ”

_“Romana?”_

_“We have to go. Now.” Is her frantic yet firm reply to his visible shock, as she barely looks past the TARDIS door and into the small apartment._

_“I’m kind of in the middle of something.” He informs her, pointing in Rose’s direction, and she looks up to where his thumb lands._

_“Rose,” she asserts with arrogant certainty when she looks up at the younger woman standing behind Peter, her hands on the boy’s shoulders._

_“Yes?” Rose returns, scanning back and forth between the Doctor and Romana, waiting for one of their responses, still looking shocked._

“Romana came to get me, but when she saw Rose, she was outraged.” The Doctor parses together, one hand taking Jacks, the other pressing to the back of his head. Jack lifts him up into a sitting position. Still having not fully recovered, the image of Jack above and beside him still obscured. His stomach turns in multiple knots. He focuses on facts first over questions.

He’s still in Rose’s living room.  
Jack is with him.  
No one else is with them.  
There is a boy. His name is ______.  
What was the boy’s name?  
Why was he knocked out?  
Where is everyone else?

_“You astonishingly stupid child. What were you thinking?!” In turn, Romana lashes at Rose, who moves Peter behind her as the Time Lord approaches. The Doctor is too surprised to stop Romana as she passes him, too shocked by the unfolding events to reach out and restrain her._

_“Don’t you speak to her like that.” He and Peter say in unison. They both look awkwardly at one another before looking back to the women ahead of them._

_“What in the bloody hell are you raving about?” Rose furiously asks the hostile Time Lord in front of her. The tension only builds as they all watch Romana lift her chin with arrogant superiority, attempting to reclaim her supremacy over the situation._

_“Fren. Anais. Take her to her room.”_

“Yeah, well, she wasn’t the only one,” Jack tells him. He attends the Doctor as he winces in pain and wipes the blood from his temple, earning a hiss from the Time Lord. The fog is clouding his brain, and he can’t see anyone else in the room; only he, Jack, and the TARDIS occupy the space. The coffee table has been broken beside the couch, although nothing else seems to have been damaged.

_He watches as Fren and Anais begin to move closer towards Rose before the Doctor realizes what he’s saying._

_“You touch her, and I promise you it will be the last thing you’ll remember doing.” His voice is calm but lethal in its fury._

_Fren stops and grabs Anais’s arm, halting her fellow Time Lord. Both look at him neutrally, still not moving._

_“How dare you usurp my authority.” Romana snaps, never tearing her eyes away from Rose, glaring at each other with growing intensity. He studies Rose’s jaw clench and releases, eyes narrow, and her nostrils flare. He can smell them, the room reeks with the stench of anger and frustration, and he knows that the other Time Lords can detect it, can discern the danger too. Rose does not give off her typical scent of anger; she registers to his senses as a feral animal._

_She smells like a predator._

_He knows that Fren and Anais know he means it. But at some point, their academy training will take over, and his hand will be forced._

_“Don’t do this, Romana, please.” He implores, his voice never breaks, but the weight of emotion behind it is crushing. “She’s not who you think she is.”_

_“No, she is. She’s just not **what** you think she is.” She argues, lifting her chin haughtily to Rose. “Are you Rose Tyler, the one who sent out the telepathic message: _

_They’re coming,_

_Not you, them,_

_Hurry, what do I do?”_

_Rose looks away from her adversary to catch his gaze, her eyes searching his own. He bows his head, a sign that it’s alright for Rose to answer, unsure of what she’s looking for. Apparently, it’s enough because she looks away before swallowing._

_“Yes.”_

_“And are you, in fact, Rose Tyler? The same Rose Tyler that the Doctor lost to a parallel universe in the year 2006?” Romana charges, her eyes hard and set on Rose._

_Rose looks at him, distressing her eyes, passion and betrayal at his appearance in her life._

_“Yes_ — _"_

 _"_ — _No.”_

 _"_ — _No.”_

_Martha, the Doctor, and Rose all chime in unison, in that order._

“Am I the only one responsive?” The Doctor asks hoarsely, his voice laden with anguish as he holds his head, solemn. A crescendo of nausea builds, and his knees buckle; he crumples towards the ground, too weak to continue.

Jack catches him before he does, holding the Time Lord steady. The Doctor pushes himself out of Jack’s arms almost immediately, embarrassed. He holds onto Jack’s arms, though, holds them to keep himself steady and to show Jack silent gratitude.

“No, you were the last one to wake. I thought you were dead, or at least… going to regenerate.” Jack answers his jaw as taut as his words.

“Won’t happen.” He winces as he shakes his head for a second, forgetting about the pulsing pang in his mind.

“What? Why?”

" _She_ won’t let it happen.” He reluctantly takes Jack’s help, letting the man lead him by the arm towards his ship’s open door.

“Who won’t?” Jack asks him very carefully, stopping right before the ship. And he knows he’s treading on conversationally shaky grounds.

“I don’t even know anymore. Rose? Badwolf? The terrifying power that could possibly be both? Where is everyone?”

“Waiting and ready to go, they’re inside the TARDIS.”

As they make their way up the ramp, he notices that everyone’s buckled in and ready to take off. Unlike Jack, all are looking worse for wear, blood matted beside ears, noses, eyes. He notices that Rose holds Peter’s hand in her lap while Martha watches her coldly, a bruise developing around her right eye. Anais and Fren flank his current companion, a cut along Fren’s browline still bleeding.

“What happened?” the Doctor asks, surveying the damage in the scene before him. They all look worn and ill; all eyes are red and puffy. He’s seen these symptoms before; he vaguely remembers this pain.

“What I came here to stop.” Romana responds as she pulls the dimensional stabilizer and pushing the vortex loop, “the first battle’s begun. The Glarecox are moving into Earth’s solar system. They sent a message along with the last PTW’s to weaken and warn any telepathic beings. I’m deciphering the message right now.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, the Box of Pandora was sealed in the Torchwood vaults years ago.” the Doctor steals a peek at Rose as her eyes enlarge at his admission. Peter pats her hand gently as she turns away, blushing.

“Yes, well, they didn’t come from _this_ Anesidora Jar. They came from a different universe.”

“From a _different_ universe?” He repeats.

_“Bad Girl. Bad Wolf.”_

_“What does it matter? Really, in the end?”_

“They came through the punctured holes.” He answers knowingly.

“They killed Chrysthema and Thania of team Alpha almost instantly. They knew they couldn’t outrun them, so they sent me a message. It’s the only reason why we survived.” She says before she thumps her palm against the console station and stops to breathe.

“How’d they die?” Peter inquires quietly, and Romana turns to look at him. Her face softens at once when she meets his gaze, her recognition of the young man evident.

“Two hearts, how did that come to be?”

“How did they die?” Peter asks again with more bravado. There’s no anger in his voice, no demanding tone, and she sighs and looks at Rose.

“By PTW’s,” she answers him, leaning against the console.

“Psychologically Transmissive Weapons,” Fren whispers to the humans in the room who wouldn’t know what that meant.

“Then why did they die, and we survive?” Peter counters, looking between Fren and the Doctor, always trying to maintain his watchful gaze on the Doctor.

“They were closer to the Glarecox when Alpha team was hit, they didn’t have enough time to create a counter defence, so they sent us a warning signal so that I could. Without the message they sent me, every being here that has psychic abilities would have been dead.”

There’s a long silence as they all look around at each other, realizing that everyone there has some form of telepathic ability; the blood all over their faces betrays them.

Betrays all but Jack.

“I thought Time Lords could regenerate?”

“They can, but PTW’s cook the mind, even if we regenerate, we don’t really live… We exist, which is worse than death. What I fail to understand is why they are here.” Anais chimes in.

“The message is the same, no matter what. Time War.” Romana tells him, her voice cracking a bit before glancing at Rose, and he can’t help but feel her remorse at the thought of another one.

“They are here because someone punctured holes in the fabric of space and time, and the Time War is spreading.”


	20. Discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are coming close to the end, and I want to thank everyone who's kudo'd, commented and generally followed this fic. Please let me know if at the end you'd like to see a sequel as I have a plotline planned out and *could* see myself continuing if there were any interest.

It’s just how she left it. Rose notes the clothes lying on the floor, her makeup on the desk by the mirror. Rose walks over to the vanity and sits down in the chair. The entire TARDIS has seemed so familiar and so surreal, and although Rose cannot remember the exact details, she listens to its groans of acceptance, the more she realizes it is precisely the same as it was over a hundred years ago.

Only a year ago since Bad Wolf Bay.

She can’t believe how stupid she was. William? What had she been thinking? It makes sense now; the slow loss of her sanity, her dreams more like memories she skips through. The shifting that has begun in her body as the heat radiates from the brand on her neck. It all pointed to this, to the Time War, to the prophecy’s fulfillment. She had no idea, in the beginning, that she would be the cause as well as the remedy. Rose feels guilty that she can’t even find it within her to care about the Time War at the moment.

All she can think about is _him._ After years of analyzing and praying, of wishing and wanting, after trying to separate him from William, it’s him. After she had slowly begun to lose the memory of him, though she struggled to hold onto it with an iron grasp, she had started to forget his smile, the lines in his face, and the tilt of his head. After she lost herself repeatedly, first to liquor, then to responsibility, to parenting Elle and later to raising Peter. Until there was nothing left of Rose but an empty shell, a hollow girl that was eventually cleansed of her hate and rage, cleansed of love so pure and naïve that some days she wept for the simplicity.

When she wasn’t too busy telling herself that she was nothing to him.

Nothing at all.

After all this time, all these long moments, stretched out chapters of the story, the acts to her play. After Rose devoted herself to the idea that her higher purpose was to be a secondary character in her own life and to protect a secondary Doctor and his child at all costs.

After she had finally given up.

He came back.

She pulls open a drawer in her dressing table, finding scraps of paper and trinkets she had once thought significant.

_Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land far, far away…_

Among the items is a dog eared copy of _1984_ that Jack gave her. Captain Jack and her Doctor. 

_Rose is nineteen again, and she's sitting there in a wheelchair watching his leather-clad back. He's been at it for over long enough that without a watch or clock, it seems that's all he's ever done, as though it's totally normal for them to be locked in a small room together and blatantly ignore her. She's already missing Jack._

_"I trust him because he's like you. Except with dating and dancing," she hears him cluck his tongue at her over top of the sound of the sonic screwdriver. She furrows her brow as she continues to roll._

_"What?"_

_"You just assume I'm," the Doctor starts, but she senses his restraint._

_"What?" She asks again, stopping her rolling._

_"You just assume that I don't dance." She senses his embarrassment, and how could he not be? It seems farcical at best._

_"What, are you telling me you do dance?" and she can't hide the amusement in her voice._

_"Nine hundred years old, me. I've been around a bit. I think you can assume at some point I've **danced** ," and maybe it's the way he says the last word, but she can't help teasing him that little bit more._

_"You?"_

_"Problem?" he asks, turning his head slightly towards her._

_She slides back in the seat of the wheelchair and simpers at him. "Doesn't the universe implode or something if you dance?"_

_"Well, I've got the moves, but I wouldn't want to boast."_

_Nodding, she realizes he cannot actually see the gesture, so she gets up and turns up the volume to Moonlight Serenade as holds out her hand. "You've got the moves?" and he turns to finally see her since he started that ridiculous task. "Show me your moves."_

_"Rose, I'm trying to resonate concrete." And he looks so innocent and ridiculous, looking back at her pointing the sonic device at the wall._

_"Jack'll be back." She tosses her head towards the door. "He'll get us out. So come on." and she invites him with her palm once more. before driving her point home. "The world doesn't end because the Doctor dances."_

_He gives her that look that he so far only offers her as he takes her palms oh so gently in his. Blue eyes inspecting them so meticulously before he speaks, "Barrage balloon?"_

_"What?"_

_"You were hanging from a barrage balloon."_

_"Oh, yeah. About two minutes after you left me. Thousands of feet above London, middle of a German air-raid, Union Jack all over my chest." She tells him excitedly._

_"I've travelled with a lot of people, but you're setting new records for jeopardy friendly," he admonishes as he pulls her in a little closer._

_She narrows her eyes, "Is this you dancing? Because I've got notes."_

_"Hanging from a rope thousands of feet above London," so close before he releases her hands and his voice changes just enough. "Not a cut, not a bruise."_

_"Yeah, I know. Captain Jack fixed me up."_

_"Oh, we're calling him Captain Jack now, are we?" She can definitely hear it now, and when she looks up and meets his eyes, she can read it plainly written on his face. He's jealous. So she presents the facts as she sees them. It's how he deals Rose her fate usually._

_"Well, his name's Jack, and he's a Captain."_

_"He's not really a Captain, Rose." There is that hidden undercurrent of threat she was waiting for._

_"Do you know what I think?" She asks him, "I think you're experiencing Captain envy." He gives in, reaching for her waist, drawing her in closer._

_"You'll find your feet at the end of your legs. You may care to move them._

_"If ever he was a Captain, he's been defrocked." He mutters, but he's close enough that she can feel the heat of his body pressed against her._

_"Yeah?" She beams brilliantly up to him as she rolls her eyes. "Shame, I missed that."_

Jack.

What was he doing here? She had listened as Time Lords and companions talked about her like she wasn’t even in the room. She listens to his voice as he explained that she was _not_ his.

And he was right. She wasn’t.

Because Rose was _never_ his.

So it had only been a year for him, from what she can gather, a year and he’s already moved on. He’s got his own version of the mortgage, the white picket fence, the two-point-five kids/companions, whatever we are calling it these days, she tells herself.

And Jack is there, alive and well, just as handsome as ever. Rose can see it in his eyes; she now knows what she’s done but refuses to acknowledge this. It’s easier to believe that only **she** knows the pain of being genuinely immortal, of living without being able to die of wounds, grief, illness or pain. Of never growing up, or never growing old. Of never being allowed to forget him, fall in love, or be generally human.

Her hand searches the drawer and finds a pressed rose from one of the botanical gardens on Barcelona.

 _"_ A rose for my Rose,” he had said, “so that she never forgets just how special she is.”

_“And how special is that?”_

_“You’re the only flower on Earth that exists throughout time and space.”_

There’s a bottle full of ice-water from woman’s wept and one of her missing posters Jackie made her take with her. She pushes back the other items to find a scrap piece of paper, torn and old around the edges folded neatly into two.

Opening it up, she’s surprised with what she wrote over a hundred years ago.

**Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?**

He had said it once, whispering it under his breath when he thought she wasn’t listening. Mickey had just come aboard the TARDIS, and they were all awkwardly getting settled to the new arrangements. She had heard him say it before, say it after they were coming back from Rome. Excusing herself from the console room, Rose had gone to the library to see if she could find the translation of the saying that the TARDIS refused to translate for her ears. She never did find out the meaning until she no longer was with him.

**Who will watch the watchmen?**

Only now does she really understood the weight behind the words; why she caught him reminding himself every now and again. Now, she just carefully folds the paper and puts it back in the drawer.

“What are you doing?” Martha asks from behind, startling her.

She turns to look at the younger companion, her arms held neutrally at her sides, her body not leaning or touching anything. She respects her, she may not like her, but Rose can already tell she has respect for her.

“I’m just going through some things… They’re a lot similar to my Doc—”

“No, I meant, what are you doing to the Doctor? Why are you lying?” Martha’s voice is bitter, her face confused.

Rose stares at her, surprised her own response doesn’t echo Martha’s. She’s too tired, too old to care, too numb and afraid.

“Close the door,” Rose tells Martha before sitting on the bed. Martha slips further into the room before turning to close the door behind her. Rose nods to the dresser chair for Martha to relax, which she does.

“I could hate you.” Rose starts. “I venture if I really put in the effort. I always thought I would _want_ to hate you, thought if we ever to meet, I wouldn’t be able to help it. That the rage would overwhelm me the way, it did when we were young. And yet, I don’t. I don’t hate you, and it _bothers_ me that I don’t.”

She looks up at Martha, who sits there with a look of fear and a bit of shock, and still, it’s obvious she understands. “I don’t know you, Martha, and hate requires understanding and energy, energy to understand something I simply do not have the time for. I don’t want to get to know you, I just want to worry about my role in the Time War, and Peter’s wellbeing then finish out the rest of my days.”

“Is that why you won’t tell him?” Martha interrupts.

“Tell him what?”

“Tell him that you’re **his**?”

“Why does that have to be what we talk about. Two women, alone, with a vast amount of similar experiences, and you want to talk about him?”

“He does tend to be the gravitational force that most of us are pulled by.”

“I’ve been drifting outside his pull for quite some time now, Martha.”

“Or is it because you’re dying?”

Martha and Rose sit there for a few moments, staring at one another as the silence stretches thinner and thinner between them, ready to break. Rose feels her beast stir in its slumber, waiting for her barriers to crumble. But it’s no longer the Wolf that tries to possess her; it’s her other passenger. At least with her Wolf, she knows its intentions; whatever the other facet of her personality is, it’s not satisfied with the Doctor’s arrival; it wants more. Rose doesn’t want her other passenger to feel satisfied; she doesn’t want to know what will happen then. She searches around her pocket for her pills, taking off the cap and pouring four into her mouth to sit under her tongue. Her body’s resistance to them growing little by little every hour of every day.

"I'm not a clairvoyant Rose, just a very sensitive telepath. There was a message, the Glarecox? It had an attachment, so to speak. That's how I know. I know what you sacrifice. I don't think... from what I can tell, he doesn't know."

“There’s nothing he can do.” Rose finally says, looking away from Martha. “My time’s almost up. I have a duty to fulfill, and then… we’ll see what happens.”

“He has a right to know.”

“No, he really doesn’t! He lost rights decades ago!” Rose throws back, surprise over her outburst. But it’s too late. The calm and relaxed exterior she had so carefully built for the other woman has crumbled. Rose knows it as Martha nods lightly in understanding. She doesn’t want her demon satisfied, but she doesn’t want to let go of all she’s known either; to admit he’s come back is to admit she’s been wrong.

To admit that she still hurts.

“You think you can just come in here and judge me? Judge my decisions? I’ve had enough time to do that for myself.”

She watches out of her peripheral vision as Martha stands to leave the bedroom before stopping at the door.

“He told me once that when he first met you, he had to ask you twice. Told me he never had done it in his life before, but something told him to make that extra trip, said he still remembered the smile you wore as you came running to him, came ready and willing for adventure.”

“That girl died a long time ago,” Rose tells her, gripping a pillow and placing it in her lap.

“Doesn’t matter. Not to the point, I’m trying to make.”

“And just what is your point?” She asks, turning to see Martha still standing at her door.

“You left it all behind. Your mum, boyfriend, your life—”

“Don’t you dare mention my family. My mum and Mickey _died_ because they came over here. It was my fault they died here. After I got past the fact that knowing the Doctor probably saved their lives from the Siltheen’s invasion, the Sycorax, and even the Cybermen, even after I got past all of that, I realized that I still could have saved them. That if I had figured out the sonic waves only a little bit sooner, if I had kept Dad at Torchwood just a little bit longer, their deaths would have never happened. I live with that every day.”

“I wasn’t trying to disrespect your family. I’m just saying that you left your life behind, and for two or three days, you had the most incredible experience you had ever had in your life. But when you came home, a year had passed. You realized it wasn’t all fun and games, that while you go and try to forget up there, everyone else has to go on living down here. That’s what happened to you. You had to go on living for years while he had a few good days. Even then, he never stopped thinking about you.”

She sits in silence, looking down at the pink pillow she placed in her lap, tracing the edges, not ready to let go of her resentment.

“Your mum forgave you, right?”

But Rose doesn’t say a word. She refuses to let some girl she met a little over an hour ago sum up the last hundred years of her life into a few small and petty words. In her heart, it isn’t the same; it never was the same.

She never knew what her mum was going through; if she had, she would have gone straight home. But he had to have known. Had to have known how she would think of him, always and forever. How, although she would try and live a life fantastic and just, that it would never compare, that other blokes would forever be found wanting. And yet he still found time to smile, laugh, forget her and carry on, hold hands, find Jack and his own people.

“Nevermind, doesn’t matter. Just thought I’d let you know. He loves you. Always has and always will, and God knows I could hate you too for all his moping about and distancing himself from me.” Martha adds.

“You think you know him, Martha, know what he’s all about. You just wait until he leaves you behind. Then you’ll know, and you’ll hate yourself. You’ll hate that you never understood and that he was so bloody good at grooming you. You’ll hate that you still long to touch the stars, still crave the adventure, even when it means that you lose a little more of yourself to him. You think it was all fun and games and that I wouldn’t trade it for the world? At the time, I didn’t think so either, but look where it left me—an embittered old woman with nothing, not even the ability to die. I’ve had to share my body with two other entities that _I still can’t place to this day_. Even Peter isn’t rightfully mine. If he loved me so much and it’s been so little time for him, why did he take you? Why did he ask you to come along when he told me he would travel on alone? He lied to me, so why shouldn’t I lie to him?”

“Are you really that obtuse? I don’t have to justify my relationship with him to you. When you’re really interested and not attempting to attack me, I’ll let you know. You can resent or hate him all you want, but lying to him is only lying to yourself. If you’re really over him, truly over it all, you wouldn’t have to hide it.”

She goes to close the door before Rose calls out, “Martha?”

She stands there, waiting for the older companion to speak.

“Who else knows?” Rose asks, no anger or resentment left in her voice, as though they didn’t just go for each other’s sore spots. She is not defeated, but she feels no need to fight the other woman. She’ll understand in time, and when she does, maybe they’ll get along, have a spot of tea. Laugh like her and Sarah did once.

That had been her name, hadn’t it? Sometimes it was too long ago to remember.

“Fren and Romana, that’s it. Oh, and Romana says she wishes to see you, says she’s uncoded the message.” Martha tells her tightly before closing the door quietly behind her.

~***~

* * *

They sit there in his library, staring at each other across his desk, neither willing to speak. They’ve sat there in awkward silence since Romana kicked everyone out of the console room, all departing to separate areas in the TARDIS. He hadn’t had it in him to invite her to his library, so instead, he watched as she wandered away down the hall while Fren and Jack retreated with Martha to her room. He hadn’t noticed the boy or the fact that he was following him until he made his way to the room.

He had been too wrapped up in thought, too focused on facing another Time War before he turned to open the door and saw Peter behind him. They had made the briefest of eye contact and nodded in understanding at each other before he turned the handle and entered. They had sat there in silence ever since, both unprepared and unwilling, both looking for answers but unable to put their best foot forward.

Being the older Time Lord, he settles that for once to act like it.

“How’d you—”

“You didn’t feel right.”

The Doctor nods and pulls his specs off, rubbing his eyes. “In what way?”

“In EVERY way.”

He sighs, placing the specs in his pocket before leaning back in the chair and putting his hands behind his head. “That’s the Time Lord in you.”

“Really? I thought it was a part of my _mystical human_ abilities.” Peter counters, rolling his eyes and folding his arms over his chest. The Doctor watches him, all the subtle moves he makes and can’t help but smile at the boy. This boy is his son, not necessarily _his_ son, but his flesh and blood nonetheless. He can see it when he regards his face, posture and even hearing it in his voice. He has a voice, which is more than he can say for most. In another time and place, Peter would have been his to hold and love, to mould into a man.

“Are you always this insolent?” He asks tiredly, unable to help himself at the idea of poking a bit of fun at the young man in front of him.

“Do you always point out the obvious?” Peter solicits, tilting his curly head to the side, his mouth twisting into a smirk. It reminds him of Rose. It occurs to him that this is a product of _them_ , both of them together, Rose and the Doctor.

This version of him had a plus-two.

“You get it from your mother, apparently, because that doesn’t come from me.”

“Well, you’re not my father, are you?” Peter mumbles, his chin falling into his chest. It’s apparent he doesn’t like the mention of the word ‘mother.’

“Point and check.”

They sit in reticence, and the Doctor ruminates over the events that had just occurred a few hours before. He remembers how she smiled at him, how her eyes had captured the light that fell through the window. She had been disappointed, or was it relief?

_“I heard your call.”_

_“Right, from... from then. Of course. That would make sense. Silly me.”_

Peter breaks their silence, “I don’t understand how you think you can make perceptive judgements on what I did or did not inherit from my mother.”

“Well, Rose always was a bit—”

“Rose isn’t my mother.”

~***~

* * *

Romana’s remaining in the console room when Rose walks through the entrance of the corridor. They both look at each other neutrally, neither knowing where to start or how to go about it.

“You wanted to speak with me? Does this mean I’m allowed to leave my quarters?” Rose eventually proposes, gradually making her way to the console, her moves gradual and controlled. She doesn’t want to get angry, she doesn’t like fighting when she’s suppressing her passengers; Rose prefers if they would along.

“I did,” Romana replies. Her airs are still high, but there is definite respect for the other woman now, and Rose has no idea where it came from.

They finally meet halfway, standing near the data screen, both bathed in green light. The TARDIS is in stasis, hiding in the Time Vortex until Romana makes a move.

“I want to apologize.” Romana commences, breaking the eye contact they held for so long, and it jars Rose slightly to see the older and wiser female admit wrongdoing.

“I acted rash and not accordingly, assuming that your actions were a direct cause of the Glarecox coming through the gateways between the universes.”

“Just because I sent out the telepathic message Romana, doesn’t mean that I was the one who made the holes between our universes.” Rose counters, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I know, I know that **now**. Which is why I’m trying to apologize. I realize now that you didn’t do it. I made a judgement based on my knowledge of... what is going on with your _triality_.”

“Triality? Because I have more than duality?” Rose smirks, before adding, “Well, if I didn’t do it, then who did?”

Romana turns to look at the monitor on the console, then motions for Rose to follow her. Both women watch as a face appears on the screen. It’s the Glarecox General, the same Glarecox General who repeatedly tortured Rose to death until William saved her. She feels the tattoo flare as the rest of her body goes numb at the sight of his homely visage.

“To those who have survived, you needn’t worry. We will kill you soon. Behold the mighty Glarecox, come to wipe out existence and time. We come to destroy. No one shall be spared. Our masters deem it so. End transmission.”

They stand in silence for a few moments before Rose pipes up. “Well, that was pointless with its ‘hello, goodbye.’ They have quite the bravado, don’t they?”

“This is serious, Rose. They used to work for the Daleks, but the Daleks are gone now. We have to figure out who the Glarecox are fronting.”

“Do they have to be in collusion with another race? Can’t they be evil bastards without the orders? It happened with our world.”

“No, it doesn’t really work that way. When your Torchwood opened the Box of Pandora, the Glarecox were still under the idea that they were working for the Daleks. You said that this W. was the one to open it and absorb—”

“No, there wasn’t really as much absorbing. Something came OUT of the jar.”

“Are you sure? Your holo reports indicate that the absorption of the taratagenes. It’s been a long life. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that you are forgetting.”

“I mean, yes, you’re right. It very well could have absorbed tartargenies or whatever it is your talking about. But when he lifted the lid of the jar, the very first thing that happened was a piece of Time Vortex flowed out, it healed Grace, and joined with me.”

“I take it the he you’re referring to was another version of the Doctor,” Romana says, her voice lacking compassion or understanding. Instead, in its place, she’s recovered her annoyance and superiority. It’s enough to rub Rose the wrong way.

“How do you know?”

“Peter’s got Time Lord in him, I doubt you know many Gallifreyan-born.”

“How do YOU know the Doctor Romana?” She asks, tilting her head and crossing her arms. She’s tired of dancing around each other, and here is her chance. There is no Doctor to interfere, no Peter to hold her back and be a model for. No Martha to be wary of hurting. Romana knows her secret and has yet to tell the Doctor; she knows that he would have found her by now if she had. Here’s her chance to demand some answers.

“Every Time Lord knows the infamous Doctor.”

“That wasn’t the question, and you know it.”

Romana laments, and the supremacy drains from her face as she sits down in the Captain’s chair. “Do you really want to know? Or are you just asking so that we avoid the fact that we’re lying to him?”

“You know better than anyone else aboard the TARDIS why I’m lying to him. You know what’s happening to me, what I cannot change. I felt it when we were back at the apartment. You read my mind. Don’t think I didn’t let you.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. With your power, you could have held your barriers higher than you did. It was an allowance, not a forceful entry.” Romana agrees.

“So tell me, Madame President, what did you see?”

“Something more terrifying than I could ever describe.” Romana whispers and the TARDIS hums its agreement as they bathe in its glow. Rose sees the empathy in her eyes, the fear there, and it irritates her. She looks away as it makes her feel more like a victim than she’s willing to admit. To see Romana’s fear is to realize that a Time Lord is afraid of her.

“And that is something I have to live with every day. Knowing that one day, it’s all going to come crashing down around me. My sanity, my life, what little pleasures I get. He talked of mind-death and regeneration, how they’d only be an empty shell. Worse then death, he said. That’s going to happen to me, isn’t it, Romana?”

“You’re evolving at a rapid rate. Not only do you share your mind and body with two other entities, but your body’s changing, it’s altering, you’re becoming—”

“A Time Lord.”

“Honestly, Rose, I have no idea what you’re becoming.”

~***~

* * *

Martha is walking down the hall away from the console room, away from Rose’s quarters, when she sees the Doctor walking towards her at full speed. Determination and anger are set into his features.

“Where are you going?” she asks as he reaches her, his arms grabbing hers for leverage.

“I need to speak with Rose. Have you seen her?” he asks her, anger and passion drip off every word.

She thinks back to her conversation with the ex-companion, thinks about what was said, and slowly shakes her head. “No, I— I haven’t.”

They stand there, reality slowing around them as she sees realization wash over his features. She considers the menacing look in his eyes, which he usually reserves for the worst of the worst, the monsters and creatures that trick him, the ones he hurts the most.

“Martha, what’s going on here? _What do you know_?”

“Nothing,” she answers a little too fast, and she winces as she sees a rage sweep over him, a murderous rage.

And it’s directed at her.

“Don’t lie to me. I know you know something!”

She thinks quickly and realizes how vulnerable she is now, being held there and being caught in this lie. They have a strong mental link, and she realizes now just how hazardous her keeping something from him has become. Hastily, she starts reinforcing the walls in her mind, desperately trying to build up her fortress against what she knows will happen next. She stands no chance as he comes barreling through, his fury and fear sweeping over her body in spasms.

**_Who else knows?_ **

_He had to ask you twice._

_Your mom forgave you, right?_

**_He lied to me, so why shouldn’t I lie to him?_ **

**_That girl died a long time ago._ **

_You left it all behind. Your mum, boyfriend, your life._

**_Who else knows?_ **

_I'm not a clairvoyant Rose, just a very sensitive telepath. You're message, when we got it, it had an attachment, so to speak._

I know what you sacrifice.

**_Who else knows?_ **

_He has a right to know._

**_He lost his rights decades ago!_ **

_You had to go on living for years while he had a few good days._

**_Who else knows?_ **

_He loves you. Always has and always will._

_Lying to him is only lying to yourself. If you’re really over him, really over it all, you wouldn’t have to hide it._

**_You think you know him, know what he’s all about. You just wait until he leaves you behind. Then you’ll know, and you’ll hate yourself._ **

**_Who else knows?_ **

_You can resent or hate him all you want._

**_Who else knows?_ **

She’s been placed against the wall sitting on the floor when she wakes only to mutely watch him storm away.


	21. The Doctor Dances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've warned more than once that sex and violence are apart of this fic, and from here on out it is open season and I will not bore you with these warnings.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Romana out. Now.” The Doctor snaps as he enters the console room. He glares as she turns to Rose and waits for a response from the ex-companion. Rose glimpses his way, her eyes lingering on his inscrutable face. She nods, which is enough for Romana; her anger remains in the console room like a fog, and yet, he never wavers to observe his fellow Time Lord go. He’s too occupied managing his distance from her as an advantage to study and take her in, too consumed by his fury to let his intense gaze falter. And still, she meets his captivated stare with an oblivious expression, bluffing as best as possible.

Her skin is flawless, the hair longer and a different shade, but she still smells the same, like cinnamon and gravy.

He can’t believe he missed that.

Her makeup and style have changed; softer mascara and eyeliner, wearing dress slacks and dress shirts, cardigans replace hoodies.

But she still wears Converse trainers.

He’s reached that brink of rage into being irrational, lost all sense of fairness and sensibility. He storms over to where she stands, stopping only a few inches from her, his eyes boring into her, his own turmoil's snowballing.

“Rose.”

He says one word; Just one word. That one word conveys his confusion and her betrayal, love and disgust. With that one word, the penny drops, and it’s now there between them, her own fear and pain. It crashes against him in waves so staggering that he needs to take a step back; her agony suffocated him. It surrounds her like dark clouds, protectors against anyone she wishes to keep her distance. They stand in a timeless face-off of will and sentiments; neither is willing to recoil or look away first.

“Why?”

Again, it’s simple, direct, and to the point. The English language consists of over 600,000 words, and the Doctor has only needed two of them. He can’t remember the last time he’s blinked, which accounts for the tears streaming so freely down his face, tracing tracks along his laugh lines. It would also explain why Rose drops her head and takes a step back, still susceptible after all these years.

_After all these years…_

“Hello, Doctor.” She greets modestly, directing her gaze toward the floor. He laughs; bitterness, surprise and humour all broiled together. It echoes from within him and against the TARDIS’s chamber-like walls, but his ship just groans in her regular fashion.

He watches as her chest rises and falls in a quick repetitive fashion, breathing in as the body’s pheromones change, and she smells just how he remembers when she was upset. It’s harder than ever to discern, but it’s there. She’s had a long time to build up her defences; to hide the heart of this girl he loved behind a tall and unyielding barricade. If he can just touch her, everything should be fine; he will be capable of letting the lying and deceit go. He hates being angry, and even more so with Rose, but he has to know. The Doctor reaches out to touch her, past his own ire and irrationality, only to have Rose flinch. She moves back out of his reach as though she were an abused animal reluctant to being helped. It destroys him a little; wrath swells through him anew.

He has much he aches to say to her and still nothing to say at all.

“Now, now Rose. No need for formalities. You seemed just fine calling me _William_ earlier when you invited me into your flat.”

“Don’t you dare.” Her eyes flashing as she snaps her head back to meet his stare.

“Don’t I dare what? Ask questions? Wonder why you thought I was a different Doctor—”

“He wasn’t you! He was _never_ you, and don’t ever presume to think that that didn’t kill me every day.” She interrupts the emotional detachment in her voice, spurring him. Rose begins to walk out of the console room, but he isn’t finished and never was one for giving up.

“Ah! So you fancied what you couldn’t have? How curious that we both ended up with the short end of the stick.” He follows as they round a corner and walk down another corridor.

“Fuck you.” She spits, stopping to whip her head back, her hair spinning around her face.

“Profanity doesn’t become you, Rose. Not now, not ever, so there is no need to resort to it. You’re much more articulate than that, are you not? Doctor Tyler, is it? And in communications too.”

“Had to find something to do in the last century, eight years in school didn’t seem like that much of an investment.” She spins on her heel and continues down the corridor.

“Apparently, neither did our two and a half.” He barks at her, his furor taking control. They both now storm down the hallway, raving at each other, and he notices that the TARDIS has not revealed Martha’s or the guest rooms that Jack and the others are staying in. The Doctor sends his ship a silent thank you.

“Who the hell do you think you are to attack me? You seem to keep forgetting that _you_ left ME!”

“Oh, I think I would remember better than you. Apparently, the last hundred years has skewed that memory. I never _left_ you. I _lost_ you. Therein lies the difference.”

“Oh sure, yeah lost,” She giggles with a bit of acidity, “what a convenient way of describing it. Being left alone with nothing, no one. To truly be lonely.”

“You have no idea what it means to be lonely.” He responds with disgust and condescending appall. He is speaking to her like she was a petulant child—something he refused to do even _when she was with him_ , still tender and naïve. In fact, Rose is cognizant that he has NEVER spoken to her like this, and yet, she remembers someone else who had.

“Right! I forgot you know exactly what it’s like. For that whole year, you must have travelled alone, no one to talk to and _pretend_ for. Sorry, must be my mind slipping in my old age. But you’d know what that was like, wouldn’t you? Oh, great and powerful Doctor?” She asks scathingly, hands flying erratically as she marches back towards him.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Why would I mock you? Why would **anyone** mock you?! After all, there’s nothing farcical about you. That’s where they all make their mistake. Bet they never made it again.”

“You’re not making any sense!”

“I might never make any sense again! I may have two heads!!” And again, Rose turns from him and marches ahead until they reach the end of a long corridor. At the top, there is only one door for them to travel through, “then you burn up and blaze in front of my eyes, turning my entire world upside down. Never once did you think to tell me, to mention it. ′ _By the by Rose, If we ever get into a real pickle, I could end up dying. And if I do, I may just change everything about myself that you know.′_ But NO!! you expected me to _understand_ , expect me to just _accept_ it and move on—”

“Very seldom did I ever have a companion who could just accept it and move on. Maybe I had some trust issues?”

“HAD some trust issues? Now _that_ is a laugh.” She snaps as they reach the end of their journey. Rose plants her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes.

“Oh, so now that you’re all grown up, you think you’re my equal? Hmm? That you _understand_ me? I heard what you said to Martha. Heard how you, as you humans always do, ‘get’ me finally. You forget I have about eight centuries on you—”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t behave like a sociopathic **three-year-old**. You’ve let people die without a second thought, thinking that a few apologies here and there will absolve you—”

“I NEVER make the mistake of thinking I’m absolved. I’m past absolution!” He growls, “What about you, Rose? Did you ever rationalize the thousands of people slaughtered at the expense of your decisions?”

Although he might not feel much about the words he fires at her _right now_ , he knows that the guilt will disgust him later. She has no rapid-fire rebuff to his exploitation of her weak spot. He knows Rose feels responsible for losing her mother and father, for every one slain in her first battle against the Glarecox. He feels no satisfaction as he watches her face crumble for the slightest of seconds before she pulls herself together, and her features tighten in resolve.

“At least I didn’t kill my entire race.”

“No, just your mother and father.”

It’s a low blow, past cruelty, even for him, but knowing it still didn’t stop him. Stop him from aspiring to hurt her; to break her. So, this is what they’ve resorted to. Trying to best each other with petty and cruel knowledge. This is precisely why he doesn’t get too close because you don’t have to deal with the aftermath when you don’t get too close. Or is it that he knows he is not a good man and that the adage ‘we hurt the ones we love the most’ is sickeningly true. And even now, even knowing that his behaviour is _the worst_ , he still wants to hold her close and feel her fragile breath against his cheek. To see her mischievous grin, the one she had once reserved for him and him alone. He doesn’t know how to reach her, the Rose he is in love with.

He watches her because he can’t help but do otherwise; the driving power behind keeping his feelings collected, the reservation he’s used to practising is long gone. He just stands there, waiting. Waiting for this to end, for the world and the universe to come crashing down around them. He couldn’t care less. She is all he wants. His hand flexes, remembering the last time he reached for her, she recoiled, so to keep them occupied, he shoves them deep into his suit pockets.

Rose permits her tears to fall; her face never changes as they cascade in torrents down her smooth cheeks.

“Why are you here?” she queries, her speech never breaking, her own resolve still holding firm. He doesn’t know if he has it in himself to punish her anymore; the rage is already starting to ebb into a balanced state. He’s already told her why he’s here, but that’s not what she’s asking.

There’s only one reason he’s here, one base reason that the Doctor loathes himself for because it shatters every rule he’s set for himself. He thinks of what he’s going to say and knows that there’s no way that all his forms of rationale will work this time. There is no opportunity for him to tell her what she already knows. It occurs to him then that maybe she never did. It’s a scary thought, a terrifying thought that makes his unruly rage flare once more. How could she not know? How could she be so bloody silly and stupid to not understand?

_“How many of us have there been travelling with you?”_

_“Does it matter?”_

_“Yeah, it does, if I’m just the latest in a long line.”_

_“As opposed to what?” he turns on his heel to direct a challenging stare in her direction. She steps back and blinks at him with hesitation as she works to stand her ground. They do not have time for this line of questioning, what with the Krillitane trying to change the fabric of time itself. Still, truth be told, he would never find the time to have this particular conversation with her; after all, she is here, and Sarah Jane is not._

_“I thought you and me were... I obviously got it wrong. I’ve been to the year five billion, right, but this? Now, this is really seeing the future. You just leave us behind. Is that what you’re going to do to me?”_

_“No. Not to you.”_

_“But Sarah Jane? You were that close to her once, and now you never even mention her. Why not?” Rose interrogates further._

_“I don’t age. I regenerate. But humans decay. You wither, and you die. Imagine watching that happen to someone who you...”_

“I’m here because…” he starts, but he still struggles to this day to finish what he started at on the beach of Bad Wolf Bay. She’s supposed to be better than that, brighter than the average human. That day, the day with Sarah Jane, really had she not known what he had wanted to say? Has she never comprehended the reality of the situation?

Had she never learned that actions speak more than words?

_“There’s one tiny little gap in the universe left, just about to close, and it takes a lot of power to send this projection. I’m in orbit around a supernova. I’m burning up a sun just to say goodbye.”_

_“Am I ever going to see you again?”_

_“You can’t.”_

_“What’re you going to do?”_

_“Oh, I’ve got the TARDIS. Same old life, last of the Time Lords.”_

_“On your own?”_

_He nods to her; how could she even ask? How can she not grasp that nothing could ever replace her_ —

_“I lo...” she interrupts, choking back on a sob. “I love you.”_

_His hearts break and fill with such joy at the same time._

_“Quite right, too. And I suppose if it’s one last chance to say it, Rose Tyler...”_

“Because why Doctor?!”

“Because I love you!”

He said it.

He _finally_ said it, and time didn’t stand still, his hearts didn’t stop beating, the earth didn’t stop turning (that he knows of). Instead, life and death remain in balance with the fabric of time and space.

“Because I love you.” He repeats, and it’s less callous, sincerity filling his whole being. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to reiterate it, but he thinks it may have been more for himself than her. They stand there; the only audible sound is the whine and wheeze of his old ship. He wonders if he’ll be able to hear Rose’s heartbeat if he listens just a little closer, listen with hope to see if it quickens with his admission.

“It’s too late.” She shakes her head in disbelief, holding herself.

As quickly as his wrath came, gnawing desperation begins to occupy its place. Frustration and panic fill him up to the brim as he shakes his head, mimicking her reactions.

“No, no, no, no, no, it’s not. Tell me it’s not.” He pleads with her, attempting to control his heavy breathing, trying to hold back the onslaught of dread and fear that wells within him. She may have been a bit on the nose about the sociopathic three-year-old.

“Yes, it is! You think you can storm into my life and say the words, and everything will be _okay_. But real life doesn’t work that way. You fail to recognize that I waited for you.”

He holds his tongue and doesn’t dare interrupt her, but he feels a twinge of hope when he hears a modicum of passion return to her affect.

“I waited through hell and high water. Like when I waited for five and a half hours. Because you always chose me.”

She sounds so sweet right now and kind, but he knows there’s something else.

“At least that’s what I thought as I waited obediently, thinking that you would make possible the impossible. And that’s on me, Doctor, because you _told_ me. You told me you weren’t coming back, ever that day on the beach. It’s just that I was so sure I saw you the first time I died? That night in the Torchwood hospital wing. Even then, you said, ‘We are Rose.’ Stupid. I was so dumb, still. So I waited patiently and learnt how you go to the academy and train to withstand the insanity. And what you really mean when you distinguish between Gallifreyan-born and Time Lords. How your children age. I watched William die, Doctor, I saw him atomize into amber and mingle with tartagenes and the vortex and _me_. Then suddenly, he regenerates into you—but from when we first met. When things for us felt so much simpler. I raised his son, you know? And I did the best I could. And that became what I did; my singular purpose was to raise Peter because I wanted to make sure that no matter what, he knew how to communicate his needs and his feelings. Because we don’t have an academy here in this universe, he could end up like me, empty without that training for his soul, like the Master. I lost every bit of me to be better for everyone else. Until there was nothing left. A vessel, the perfect one for my passengers. And to think I remember when just holding your hand was everything to me. Then well, there’s you, and you’re definitely not him. He came back after three hours. I think that time, the Glarecox kept killing me. Over. And over. And over. But hey, with Madame de Pompadour, it wasn’t until here I figured out it was never about me the second time around, it was the TARDIS, and that’s okay! But you should know I’m not the same person.”

Rose shakes her head and turns the door handle, backing into the room at the hall’s end. The Doctor watches his world start to fade away from him; the light at the end of the tunnel begins to move farther and farther into the distance. He doesn’t understand it; he’s supposed to be able to catch the horizon, that’s what he does, and yet it’s just out of his grasp.

“Yes, you are. Deep down inside, you’re always the same person Rose, no matter what happens. The good and the bad in all of us, they affect us to our core, but it’s the people you surround yourself with that shape those parts of you and build you into the person you can be. You have always been and will always be some of the best parts of me, Rose, my thorns and all. Because we both know those parts of each other. I know those parts of you. Like how I know, you still care, even though I understand you’re hurt. You know that I know that better than anyone else.” He tries, the frantic edge in his voice no longer contained.

But she just shakes her head. She goes to close the door on him, “It’s too late.”

He will not accept that.

“Wait!” he pleads and jams his hand in the door frame only to feel the heavy metal door slam on it. Pain shoots up his arm, and he yelps out in pain.

Rose whips open the door and make a sound that resembles something similar to a giggle and gasp as she exclaims, “Oh no!”

He winces in pain as she grabs his hand and holds it under her scrutiny. Her previous cold demeanour dissolves into a familiar kindness. He relaxes under her ministrations, basking in her glow. She turns his hand in her own, her index finger tracing the injury marks.

"Does it hurt?" She asks, still checking the surface of his palm.

"Yes." He answers softly.

He views her lashes flutter as she peers up at him. She brings his palm to lips and gently presses them along the angry red line.

"Does that help?" She whispers.

He swallows and nods as he falls deeper into those hazel orbs looking at him with an acceptance that he forgot she possessed.

"I'm so sor—"

And then she's kissing him.

She relinquishes his hand, and he moves them both, quivering, to her face, cradling her as he falls farther into her kiss. He can taste Rose against his lips, the salt of her tears. But as she slides her tongue against his bottom lip, he can feel pieces of her he had never sensed before, an undercurrent that echoes from within. She grasps him by his hair, arching her body into his, pulling herself up. He can taste time and quasars in her caress. Before he can think clearly, about how many rules he is currently breaking and how many more are going to follow, Rose is pulling him back into the room, and he kicks the door closed as he follows, holding onto her lower back, pressing her as firmly to him as he can.

~***~

* * *

Rose supposes she did it for closure, but as her tongue slips between his parted lips, she may have to concede, she did it for herself.

He moans softly into her mouth.

Okay, maybe for him too.

And maybe it's because Rose learned in the last century that consent would always, and rightfully rest on her shoulders, or perhaps it was because she forgot herself for a second and fell into her manner of nurturing whatever requires it, and it may be as simple as when she was holding his hand, cherishing how it felt, she remembered that he did just tell her he loved her.

Twice.

To him, she is still worth more than once.

Her two passengers are just as pleased as she is when he opens up to her, equally exploring her mouth. Gently, she reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair, soft and silky and feels the Wolf stretch as his lips move over hers with unrepressed need. His hands, more assured this time, move from caressing her cheekbones to entwining into her hair. He towers over her, and she arches her back as she presses herself to his body as firmly as she can. Something speaks to her inside her.

 **_The door wouldn't have opened if it wasn't meant for you._ **

Rose risks the chance that if she pulls away, he won't follow. So she decides to slowly lean back from him one step at a time;

One step.

Two stumbles.

Four steps.

But then the Doctor moves his hands to her hips. He holds her still as he kicks to closes the door behind him before allowing her to lead their dance once more. Her hands grasping at the lapels of his suit; she backs up until her knees are resting against the back of what Rose can only presume to be a bed. The height difference is too much, and she can't stay on her tippy-toes the whole time. As she lowers her heels to the ground, her hands make their way to his shirt buttons and begin to release them from their hold. She pulls away from him to breathe; that's why her head is swimming, right? That's the only explanation for it. It allows her to assess the damage she's caused. His hair bedraggled, lips swollen, heavy eyes betray a moment of confusion before he dips in again to trail kisses from her ear to her neck. She pulls back.

"You're making this much harder than it should be," Rose murmurs to him before trying to focus on the buttons. He groans in defiance before sliding out of his suit jacket and shirt within seconds. He's then grabbing the small of her back and pulling Rose back against his chest, lips commanding more.

She moves down his collarbone, and she senses the Wolf is awake in her. That Rose won't get to have the Doctor all to herself doesn't seem to bother her much once he finds that spot behind her ear again. Her knees feel weak, too weak to keep in this position, so she wraps herself around the Time Lord as they sink into the bed.

She whines in pleasure, her eyes falling shut, as kisses sending small currents throughout her whole body. She shivers when he starts to alternate between kissing and lightly sucking on her neck. His leg is pressed firmly between her thighs, and she is convinced that he can feel the heat radiating through the fabric.

He slowly strips her shirt away, with gentle, sure hands, tracing patterns along her sides, and she hums as thumbs fold over the top of her pants, and they slide, with effort away from her skin along with layers of emotional baggage that she has held onto for so long. When he stands, he looks down on her with such hunger and longing in her eyes, it's enough to almost make her blush.

Almost.

As their eyes lock, she lifts her shoulders from the bed and wraps her hands around behind her to undo her bra's clasps, sighing gently when the last hook releases. Out of the peripherals of her vision, she sees him working to remove his pants, but her gaze never falters; she speaks to him soundlessly. She smiles at the Doctor, the way that she used to, licking her teeth in the process.

She watches as his whole face illuminates in a way she hasn't seen in a century and meets him in the middle of the bed. Rose pushes him down, inching over his hips and bending to him like she had been wandering the desert for eternity forever unsatiated. He lifts her hair away from her features, cupping her cheeks.

"Fantastic," he declares, studying her in awe before he claims her mouth. She senses him shifting their weight to their left before pinning her underneath. She grazes her teeth against his bottom lip, pulling gently. She feels his mind flood into hers, and she barely hears herself gasp his name as he enters her.

He stills above her, and she opens her eyes to see insecurity flash across his face. Concerned that he may try to escape, she lifts her hips to wrap her thighs around him. Pleasure fills her as he shudders above her and relaxes onto his elbows.

His voice, husky with need, is inside her mind, his mouth busy against the curve of her breast. " _And you thought I didn't know how to d_ —" 

"Hush now," She moans, tilting her head back, "you talk too much."

She closes her eyes as both their minds and bodies dance; rejoice in their long-awaited reunion. Skin pressed against skin, lips against lips. Her passengers leave her alone, voyeurs but not vocal. This is _their_ moment, and they shine in its radiance. Both burn brightly for each other with each moan and sigh. Her hands rake down his back, then back to his head repeatedly. As he moves his hand deftly across her jawline, she catches his thumb with her teeth and gently begins to keen as her tongue traces its pad.

_It's so beautiful. What is it?_

**_It's the supernova that I had to burn up just to say goodbye._ **

_You don't have to say goodbye ever again._

They grow to be like the supernova; purple and blue gases that glow radiantly. The friction of the universe swells and swells, colours and gases condense, and the pressure builds inside her until they cry into the abyss, the explosion blinding in its intensity.

As Rose's mind draws away from his, she feels the ebb of remorse, knowing that he's lost more of himself to her in this movement.

As her Time Lord looks down at her, everything comes into focus around him; she sees his face haloed in light, his features betray that he is as lost as she feels.

~***~

* * *

As he senses her retreat from his mind, he tries to pull himself out of the haze of pleasure and exhaustion that hover over him. His one hand is pressed between them, the other against her lips. He lifts his head from her breast and watches her as the realization and guilt of what happened pours over him in scalding hot surges. Her hair is a mess, lips swollen from violent kisses, skin glowing with perspiration from their fusion. Her chest heaves in time with his, three hearts beating as one. Her lashes flutter open to reveal confusion and sadness etched into her eyes, their gaze meeting for the first time since they began.

How can he ever convey how remorseful he truly is, that he knows how much damage has been done? Scrambling, he tries to push himself off of her, endeavouring to give her space, even if that means he has to seek refuge in his ship's deepest darkest corner. Before he can gather his bearings and remove himself from the situation, she uses his lack of balance to roll him over and lay on top of him.

He looks up at her, shock and uncertainty carved over his features, bewildered by the change of state. Placing her palm on his chest, he feels the beat of her pulse against him as strongly as she feels his own. All he can do is gape as she perches there, her legs resting at his sides, her beautiful body straddling his.

She leans down, shoving her hair behind her ears as she kisses his lips with a gentleness that he's only ever heard about. The kiss is timeless, neither too long nor too short, a simple yet wholly perfect gesture. She sighs as she pulls away as she lowers her head to his chest, resting it there as she stretches out to lie beside him in his arms. Arms that he hesitantly wraps around her, one hand finding her hair to run his fingers through. They lie there in silence, their hearts beating together rhythmically in time, their souls finally converged.

 _The world doesn't end because the Doctor dances…_ he hears her whisper in his mind before she slides down beside him, using his arm as a makeshift pillow. 

He strokes her face as she rests her palm against his chest. They continue to gaze at each other on their sides.

**_So are we going to talk about some of your new-found abilities?_ **

_Can we just have tonight? I mean, there are... specific details that can wait, can't they?_

**_That depends on you; I won't force you to tell me anything._ **

She sighs and scoots closer to him; she brushes her nose against his chin, breathing him in deeply. Her lips brushed his collarbone, parted and teeth bare.

_I'm going to show you something, please. Don't be frightened._

He wraps his arms around her protectively, and tenderly kisses her nose.

**_Rose darling, whatever it is, we will face it._ **

He delicately curls his fingers through her hair and pulls her forehead to his kiss.

 **_Together, as partners._ **

~***~

* * *

She exhales slowly, settling into the comfort of being in his embrace. She identifies which boundaries to shift in her mind to control her power and yet, still show him the extent of what lies beyond.

The link between the three of them has always been the Bad Wolf. She concentrates her attention on the beast that lives within her, and all she can retrieve are the metaphors and memories of the thing that is slowly killing her.

_The Wolf that hunts Claire, only to hold her._

_His dreams of pushing the child on the swing, moments all flow like waves crashing against the shore._

_How Mickey smells like food, how she wants to bite and claw and decry the moon. That she craves pain, sex and death, her Wolf finding pleasure in taking over when the agony is too much or when Rose needed to be protected. And yet there was more, still so much more underneath the surface._

_He sees the amber in her eyes, flowing into him the very first time in Satellite Five._   
_How she looked like a star burning up in a laboratory in Torchwood, the aftermath of her message to him._

_Her first death._

_He sees her addictions, her darkness that she has repressed for far too long—the daily routine of pills, interviews, alcohol and depression._

_Deaths that she has never admitted to anyone. Almost as if she had been practicing._   
_Keeping the Wolf sedated and broken kept her broken as well._

_Through her eyes, he sees himself standing behind the Glarecox General and knows that she is bleeding out from cuts and wounds, her back broken._

_"Because this is no ordinary box," William says before lunging towards the beast. "And I am no ordinary man."_

_But those few moments when she let it show. The Wolf._

_Light fills the room, the screams of the Glarecox resounds, the smell of burning flesh and ash. The different colours painting her vision. Her glow is mingling with it. The Wolf flows from her, and he is gone._

_Where was he?_

_The tartagenes and the vortex all swirl together._   
_He can hear music as it wraps itself around Grace. Grace was his wife here._   
_On the coast of Aspronisi, "the Vessel and the Doctor had to birth The Protector." She continues to walk backwards into the waves. Aliens make their way towards her into the waters, their robes spreading out all around them._   
_"The Vessel will die, and the Doctor will be called away, but the Protector will need protection from the Wolf."_   
_She's on her knees in front of the snake-like beings._   
_The smell of her own flesh burning, the back of her neck searing in pain._   
_They call to her, they speak her name, but it makes no sense. It's not her name at all._   
_Wolf of the mountain._   
_But the Wolf inside keeps the impact to a minimum. Rose is tucked away from the agony._   
_But the Wolf cannot protect her from the hurt of returning home to him from Greece._

_When she dances with William at 4 a.m. before Grace's wedding. In this memory, only here, he senses what her desires were, what the Wolf would have wanted. He sees William hold her, his mouth on her neck, his hand down her pants, and her eyes are amber. But because she is sharing memories and fantasies in this way, he's invariably aware of her sacrifices and choices._

_How she feels in Tom's arms at Charlotte's wedding and laughs when William catches her._

_He can feel how Rose has been tempted, motivated to give the Wolf control more frequently in many areas of her life, how she is frightened that if she doesn't strike a compromise with her own personal demon, she fears it will revolt against her, or that she will be too jaded—too burnt out to stop it._

_He witnesses himself inside her, her eyes amber as she bites into his shoulder._

_He understands how the Wolf is what keeps Rose alive after her life ends again... and again... and again._

_He sees them together, naked. He's behind Rose, pressing her up against a wall, one hand around her throat, a smile on her face, licking her teeth. The other hand holds her upright. Her hair curly from the humidity, sweat on her collarbone. She looks like she's experiencing pure bliss._

_He sees how the Wolf learns to help Rose bring peace to this universe, but how it's still unclear. How she brings back Grace how she takes over during torture. He sees how loyal the Wolf has been. It does what's best for Rose and the people she's loved regardless of its seemingly hedonistic impulses. He sees how she has come to accept that the Wolf is part of who she is and not regard her as the parasite she initially viewed her as._

She calls the Wolf back, and just like the tide that grew of memories, truths, fantasies, and alternate-realities begins to fall back and away. She reluctantly retreats from his mind, praying his judgement isn't too awkward to bear.

Rose lays there, tensely in the Doctor's arms, the beating of his hearts continuing to follow a natural rhythm under her fingertips.

"Well, if that's the compromise you want to make, Bad Wolf, I'm sure we can arrange something." He murmurs hoarsely, "But tonight, I'd like to just hold Rose, please."

Something inside of her feels broken and whole in the most _exquisite_ way. And as she curls into him, she begins to slowly take in her surroundings for the first time, they are not actually _in her room_ , but in an entirely different and larger bedroom she's never seen before. Shivering, she reaches down and pulls up a heavy down-filled blanket before draping it over his body. As she rolls over, he slides his leg between her thighs, pulls her waist against his body, nuzzling his nose in her neck, her head using his arm as a pillow.

"Besides," he whispers, "We should have all the time in the universe, after the war."


	22. Repentence

"Martha, what happened?" Romana questions, and although it is the first instance where the Time Lord has greeted her, it's not enough to wake her out of her inward concentration.

_"Make it stop! Please, make the voices stop!" she screams, trying to pull herself up the front of his long coat, unsure of even if it's him she's grasping, her eyes unfocused on the person in front of her. Taking hold of her arms, he draws her closer to himself, and she can hear a new sound amongst the chaotic roar in her mind._

_"Follow me…" it whispers, dulling the screams around her._

He had deliberately burst through her mental blocks, the psychological barriers he instructed her to makeover weeks and months of practice. When she had first got back on the TARDIS after her conversation with River, she had tried to hide it. But he had saved her; brought her down from the last ledge of sanity that she was about to fall off of. He had taught her, helped her keep control.

_"Focus," he tells her. Both stand facing each other in the console room._

_"I am! It's not as easy as you make it look!" she bites back, frustrated._

**_I promise it will be,_ ** _he whispers in her mind._

And he had just ripped thoughts and memories from her mind for his own benefit. He had violated her, used her in a way that he would never condone of anyone else.

"Martha, what's wrong?" Romana attempts again, care replacing her usual tone of superiority as she strokes Martha's arm gently.

The contact, the press of Romana's hand against her own, snaps her back to reality, and she looks up behind tears at the older female.

"I'm sorry, I just… um…" Martha mumbles, picking herself up, away from the wall. The Time Lord peers at her with troubled eyes and gives the girl some space to get up. They stand there, both unable to walk away, eyes locked, before nodding in understanding. Firm lips pressed tight, she plants her hand back on Martha's arm, a sign of affection Martha can tell does not come naturally for her.

"Come," she says, "I'll get you back to your room."

~***~

* * *

Rose is buttoning her blouse when she hears him clear his throat. "I should probably go apologize to Romana for interrupting you two."

"I'm sure she'd appreciate that." She smiles as she peers at him momentarily, taking in the sight of him in. For him, she has only been gone for two years, only a moment in the grand scheme of the cosmos, but she can still see the result. He's traded his brown suit for a new blue one, and although it's just as small, it drapes off him in a box-like cut, making him seem thinner and frailer than before. The lines around his eyes are more profound, the look in them heavier than when she was there. This is what Martha was talking about. This is what she was attempting to make her realize.

Not once does it cross Rose's mind that these results are because Martha is any less important to him than she, herself, is. When they fused minds last night, she saw inside his psyche. She saw him. He really does punish himself, believing he lost her. He doesn't lose anyone voluntarily; it's not something he can cope with often. He grapples with his tie, an action she doubts he usually has trouble doing. She observes him, helpless as he fusses with the looping.

"Here," she murmurs, taking his hands in hers and looking up into his eyes. He gazes down at her; trust and sorrow, concern and tenderness. She clears her throat as she pulls the tie apart and starts anew. Finishing, she tucks it into his suit jacket and presses his coat down. Hands still lingering, he places him on her forearms as they stand together, sharing each other's space. Sighing, she lifts herself up on tippy toes and kisses him gently. The press of skin still sends an electric shock through her. Rose feels his hands move from her arms down her back before sliding into her jeans' back pockets and squeezing. She squeals into his kiss and gently bites his bottom lip. He pulls back and views her through dark eyelashes.

"Sorry, I've been wanting to do that for a _very_ long time."

"Mmm." She sighs and pulls out of their embrace.

"I'm going to go talk to Peter, explain what's going on. At least what I know is going on."

He scratches the back of his head, fixing his gaze on the floor before sighing, "You're right, probably the best idea, since the last time I saw him I was storming out of the study. That's probably where he still is."

She nods, pulling away from their embrace, arms slipping away from each other until all that's left is to let go of each other's hand. Taking one last look at one another, he squeezes her hand before part ways to go find the others.

He walks down the walkway, drifting in the aftermath of his thoughts, the wake of their union. He touches his lips, where the taste of her kiss remains. He had told her he loved her, well he had done a lot more than that, but the fact remains that he was the one who initiated it.

_"You're hiding something from me and it's only a matter of time. You may think you're clever, but you forget I'm brilliant."_

_"What does it matter? Really, in the end?"_

He had finally finished what he had sought out to accomplish. He found her safe, and now she was here on his TARDIS, here with him.

She finally knows that he loves her.

So why does he still feel like he's missing something?

Why is he still missing some small piece of information? The Wolf still exists, which keeps her immortal and all-powerful. She has been taking care of his alternate universe's child, like some reverent alloparent, something about a prophecy. What is holding him back from discovering the truth? He blended with her mind that he saw no clue of some secret plan, no hidden agenda that he could expose. What he did see was confirmation of something he was too scared to bring up with her. Martha had mentioned the fact that she was dying, and Rose had not denied it.

When he was in her mind and soul, he saw it there, the darkness creeping in, slowly waiting to consume her whole. It's not the Wolf, but something else entirely. He finally has what he's wanted for years, the knowledge that his people still exist, and the girl that got away, the companion he lost. Other than the fact that another Time War is just around the corner and that they all might be dead within hours, he's found peace. Not bad for a couple's days work.

Now that he's finally found her, he worries about losing her all over again, whether they die in battle or not. The grief consumes him. His hearts burst as he tries to think of how to stop it from happening; how to prevent the inevitable.

Everything comes to dust… all things die.

But not his Rose. She hasn't died; her body hasn't even aged. So what is it that is going to take her away from him? Her soul is withering away within her body. Does that mean she's going to end up an empty shell? Never to physically die; to remain immortal but lost to him forever? He can't, won't stand for it. He refuses to. Not after all they've been through, not after finally getting her back.

He watches Anais come around the corner, a frantic look on his face.

"What's wrong?" The Doctor asks, stopping the younger Time Lord from passing.

"I need to find Madame President, it's an urgent manner." Anais responds as he tries walking past him but to no avail. Instead, the Doctor grins a carefree grin and places his arm around Anais.

"I'm looking for her as well, and I know she's not this way, so why don't you fill me in as we look for her?"

"But Doctor… this is confidential infor-"

"I don't doubt it is, which is why you should be quiet and brief. Maybe we'll find her in her old quarters."

~***~

* * *

Rose hears the sounds of voices from the other side of the door to her left. She hesitates before knocking on the door, only to have it open, and Fren peeks out from behind the wood.

"Martha?" Fren says, dipping back into the quarters, "It's Rose."

She listens carefully for the reply, which is returned after a beat.

"Let her in."

The door opens, and she looks at the members of the room. Martha sits on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. Jack sits on the end of the bed, leaning forward, his head down in thought. Fren stands by the door, closing it behind Rose as she enters. All is quiet between everyone, the stillness and space small for all four people cramped within the room's walls. Martha gazes on straight ahead, sad and sore, dried tear tracks covering her cheeks. Jack peers up at Rose, his face blank and cold. She shivers as he surveys her, wishing she knew if he had figured it out yet. Rose looks away, too embarrassed to look him in the eye when she knows it's her fault that he's here, and she's pretending that she's not the real Rose.

"I've gotta go." Jack says, his voice full of disgust and disappointment.

"Don't do anything Jack, it's not worth it." Martha warns, her voice grave. Rose sees him nods, his face angry and tight as he studies his hands.

"Right, fine. But only because I know you can take care of yourself." He answers, glancing at Rose, before standing and passing by her to enter the hall.

"I should go too," Fren says, holding open the door that Jack exited out of, "Romana may need me for some of her planning procedures."

Martha nods, and Rose turns to watch Fren leave with a brief but sincere smile. It's nice to know that not everyone aboard hates her. Sighing, she goes to take Jack's abandoned seat, mimicking the same position he had not more than a minute before. There they sit, neither conversing, but the quiet is neither awkward nor unwanted. They already have some semblance of an understanding.

"I came to apologize." Rose starts, her voice firm and genuine.

"I know." Martha sniffs, prompting Rose to look at her. She sits there, her legs still up to her chest, a pillow in her lap.

"I'm so sorry Martha. Some of the things I said—"

"You had every right to say them. You weren't necessarily wrong."

Rose nods, the silence again a comfort between them. Groaning, Rose flops back onto the bed, turning onto her side and propping her head up.

"How mad is Jack?"

"Um…" Martha begins, her voice sighing and lost. "I don't think he knows how to feel. I didn't tell him, if you were wondering."

"I know."

"And I didn't tell the D—"

"I know." Rose cuts her off. It's too disturbing to hear, knowing what he did. When she converged with him, she felt how he ripped the information from Martha, how he had hurt her.

"What he did was wrong Martha, I won't refute that. I'm sorry he did it to you, and I regret I didn't tell him sooner so that you would have never been involved."

"Not much we can do about it now, what's done is done." Martha tells her, a small smile appearing on her face. "If it makes you feel any better Jack's more upset with him than you."

"Yeah, it does," Rose chuckles, a smile forming on her lips. "What are you going to tell him?"

She watches Martha ponder her inquiry, a vague question in its simplicity, yet they both know how serious it is. What was she going to say to him when she had the chance? What was he going to say?

"That he's a right bastard," Martha starts, "That if he ever does it again, I will be returning home, and then maybe that I forgive him?"

"You can forgive him? After what he did to you?" Rose questions, stunned.

"Sure, wouldn't you?"

They laugh at each other, a bond beginning to grow between them. Rose sits up and edges closer to the other companion.

"So, tell me about how you first met."

~***~

* * *

Just as the Doctor suspected, he and Anais find her in her old rooms. What he didn't imagine was Peter meeting there with her.

"What's going on?" he inquires, scanning back and forth between Romana and the boy.

"Peter was giving me a detailed account of Rose's descent into… her, predicament."

He nods, surveying the scene as he rehearses the apology in his head. Peter sits, unable to meet his eye as he strides into the room, sitting down beside him.

"Just, what _is_ her predicament, you think?" he asks, his voice is tight and unyielding along with his face.

"I think you know," Romana quietly tells him, full of compassion. But he does not desire her compassion or sympathy, and it only invokes his anger.

"Explain it to me." The words are simple enough, but they hold a cold passion. He can feel Peter uncomfortable beside him, the boy's desire to leave the room and go find Rose, to do anything other than relive Romana's questions and observations. The silence lies still, like stale air, pressing against their lungs with its thick and musty weight.

"Rose's spirit is dying Doctor, there's no way around it." Romana murmurs, staring at her hands in her lap, "Not only is her body evolving but she's also juggling two different essences."

"I don't think you understood. Tell me something I don't already know."

Sighing, she meets his eyes, "I'm not sure yet, which is why I was talking to Peter, but I think we can save Rose, fix Jack and end the time war all in one."

"Killing two birds with one stone?" He inquires, a hint of surprise and admiration leaks into his voice.

"Learned from the best."

"Don't remember ever managing a three-shot." He cannot deny that he's impressed or isn't curious about how she managed to figure this out.

"I'm sure you have, you've just forgotten."

"As much fun as I'm having, listening to you two banter back and forth like Mac and Tosh," Peter interrupts, "but can you get to the point?"

"Mac?" The Doctor inquires.

"Tosh?" Romana follows, both looking at the younger man.

"You know, Warner Brothers? The Goofy Gophers?"

"Chip and Dale?" The Doctor asks, confused.

"NO! Mac and Tosh! Chip and Dale had different faces, Mac and Tosh were identical and were terribly polite— never mind."

"I hate to say it, but the boy is right, what's your point Romana?" He leans back, his body upright and still, holding his chin high. She gives him an incredulous look, one that once again reestablishes her superiority.

"I made my point."

"What's the problem then? Why are we so morose?" this is the question he knows she won't avoid. It had all sounded too perfect, too simple to be true. And maybe it is, perhaps, this whole universe is just a different dream that's lasted far too long. Maybe he'll wake up tomorrow, and there she will be, sound asleep in his arms, the scent of her body intoxicating as she lies practically motionless beside him, only her chest rising and falling with each precious breath. Or maybe he'll wake up tomorrow and find Rose never left him; he'll just wake in front of the console and walk to her room to check on her, a slumbering head amongst piles of pink duvet. Maybe she'll have never existed at all, a lover that he made up in his own head, someone who he groomed perfectly, even with all the small imperfections, just for him in his head.

That was always the problem with knowing all there was and ever could be; you have trouble keeping up with what is.

"The solution may have," She meets his eyes when she tells him a show of respect, "adverse affects."

"How adverse?"

"Death."

"That's… quite the adverse affect. What are our chances if we don't do this?"

"Death."

"I see."

They sit in silence. So, this is how it was going to end. Many cultures and species held similar beliefs that your life (in some form or another) flashes before your eyes before you die if you die a true death. No regeneration. He wonders if it happened to those who know their end is eminent in a few days, a few hours.

"Why are you here Doctor?"

He looks back to Romana, who still holds her gaze firm. She is waiting for him to make a decision to lead them like he did so many years ago. But he doesn't know if he can do it if he can lead them all into death again.

"Right, I came to talk to you in private and Anais came to tell you that the universe it about to collapse in on itself within the next twenty-four hours. Anyone care for some tea?"

~***~

* * *

_She stands in the middle of the room. The carnage, evidence of what happened here, lies all around her, strewn across the floor. But all is quiet on this front, the battle over only hours previously, the reality of it sinking in._

_"I thought I'd find you here." She hears a newly familiar voice call out from behind her, "how'd you get past the guards?"_

_"Easy," she tells him, holding up her security badge. "Still holds some power I suppose."_

_She hears his footsteps crunch their way over to her, broken glass and rubble giving way under the comical chucks he wears. So many dead, a realization that's hard for her to make. Only two days ago, they had been laughing, toiling through their daily work, breathing. Jenna had asked her to lunch, and she had declined. Rick had been flirting shamelessly with her, which she hadn't ignored. Margaret, the lab supervisor, had told her excitedly she was expecting._

_They were all dead now, all lost because of reasons she hasn't yet been willing to accept._

_He stands beside her, neither ready to disturb the eerie silence that engulfs them. The sound of their breathing echoing against the hollowed out walls._

_"They killed them, aliens did this."_

_"Yes."_

_His voice holds a pang of sadness and respect that cradles her against the rough edges of realism. It's cold here, cold enough for her to wrap her arms around herself to keep the warmth in._

_"Are they all like this? Is this what the human race has to look forward too?"_

_There are traces of bitterness edged around the words that are fair and justified. She has a right to know, to know if this is all there is to life. Working, laughing, breathing, dying. Dying at the hands of a species that claims superiority. She thinks of the food chain, the lion eats the lamb, how it's all just fodder in the end. She feels sick._

_"No, not all."_

_She can hear the words he means to say but doesn't have the strength, too; he's telling her that he's not like this and tries to prevent this. But she knows he doesn't think it would do any good saying the words wouldn't make a difference in the slightest._

_"Your condition is only going to get worse Martha."_

_She nods, stroking her arms as she gazes out the ruined opening of the second story building, into the daylight. How would they explain this? How would they find a way to cover up what really happened here? How would they justify their lies and schemes to cover up the unexplainable? But she doesn't blame them. She can't find it in her heart too. Instead, she feels guilt, knowing that if she hadn't seen it with her own two eyes, she would have denied the brutal reality, the truth of their extinguished existence. The dead will remain dead, whether disrespected by lies or not. At this point, she finally understands the need to placate the living with stories. They aren't ready to understand._

_"Come with me." Three words she knew were coming. He doesn't say them lightly. He already told her that he travels alone, already flashed that dark side she's sure to see more if she does go with him._

_She chuckles at the thought. Sleeping in late and still always being on time. The stars, the science, the wealth of knowledge that's just begging to be discovered by her. She tastes the possibilities in the air._

_As she gazes out the hole in the building, she sees the sunset in the west, a combination of blues and pink decorate the sky. Out of the carnage, there is beauty. It's something she's going to have to learn._

_"Alright."_

"Did you find it?" Rose asks.

"Find what?"

"The beauty in the carnage?"

Martha thinks about it, sighing as she squeezes her legs. "Yes, I think I did."

They sit in her room, talking about experiences and losses, bonding over the reality of their extraordinary circumstances, making up for the lost time.

"What happened then?" Rose asks curiously, crossing her legs and lifting herself higher up on the mattress. Martha thinks about the question, her own thoughts travelling in a confused and unmanageable fashion.

"I don't know, really. I guess it all started changing after we met River and I got my powers."

"… River Song."

She feels the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, her eyes bulging from their sockets. "No, no it's not…" She laughs nervously, "not what it sounds like."

"It never is," Rose replies, a hint of a smile appearing on her lips, a sign of her trust and unenvied interest.

Martha begins to breathe, smiling and blushing furiously at the inappropriate slip. "We went to this planet, only it wasn't the planet he meant to take us too."

"Of course it wasn't."

"It was the first time he did that, so I wasn't really up-to-date on how traveling with him really worked."

"No worries, it took till the third trip for him for me to realize how twelve hours can turn into twelve months."

"I'm lucky, that hasn't happened so far. A lot of randomness though, planets we don't know we are going too, situations that are unplanned. You would think as a Lord of Time he would show a little respect to the great tool, organization." Martha muses.

"Yes, well he may be an alien but he's still a bloke." Rose snorts.

"True enough. Where was I?"

"A planet that wasn't really the planet-"

"Right. Sorry, anyways. It was called Quing Zalpha six, being the sixth planet of the seven stars of the Quing Zalpha Quadrant. We hadn't even been out the doors three minutes when we have a whole bunch of tribal folk surrounding us and the TARDIS."

They take a moment to giggle together before Martha continues.

"Anyways, they held him back as they grabbed me, carrying me off and deeper into the jungle. I thought I was dead, seriously. And it seemed so silly really because we had been through so many other crazy adventures were we could have been dead. This that on paper, would seem so much more serious that this silly situation. But at that moment, it was then I had been the most afraid I had ever been in my entire life. I was screaming for him, my hand outstretched as I watched him struggle in the arms of the tribesmen holding him back."

"It was because he was terrified."

"What?" Martha asks, looking up at Rose. But Rose isn't gazing her way. She's staring off into the distance, an indescribable look marring her beautiful features with worry and despair. It takes her a few minutes, but Rose looks back to her, waking herself out of her own thoughtful stupor.

"The reason you were scared. Sorry, you said you didn't know why. Never mind I'll be qui-"

"No, it's okay. Tell me." Martha urges, placing her hand on Rose's knee as a sign she cares to know. Rose's gaze falls on the contact, Martha feeling uncomfortable with her urgency before pulling back. Rose just smiles, an indication of her approval and Martha's anxiety instantly stills.

"Okay, um. How do I say this. You were terrified because it was the first time you ever saw him as someone who can have more emotions than just angry and manic, that frantic energy in a completely different context. By seeing that he honestly had no idea how to get out of this situation, you realized that it was possible that you wouldn't be able too."

"Wow. I never, it seems so silly and simple now."

"Don't worry, it took me a long time to figure it out too."

"When were you most frightened?" She asks, resting her own head against her knees.

"You know, it will seem like a silly situation in comparison to everything else I went through as well, but it was with this regeneration of him too. He had just left Mickey and I stranded on this space station in the middle of nowhere, no way of getting to him, no way for him to get back to us, at least that we knew of."

"It took that long for him to show fear?" Martha asks, surprised.

"No, it's odd really. When I first met him, he was different."

"A different body, right. He was explaining that when he explained regeneration to me."

"He's explained regeneration to you?′

"Yes, well. He said he never wanted to make the same mistake again." They sit for a minute, the hush a silent acknowledgement to the past and mistakes made.

Rose continues. "When I first met him, he was just as distant, but there was always a distance, it wasn't like he hid it. It was really 'this is me, good as you get, take it or leave it.' I took it. He rarely had a plan, was always thinking on the spot, and it took me some time to realize that that was how he worked. He was always terrified Martha, and so I was used to it."

Martha nods silently, too curious to interrupt for fear that Rose won't continue with more information on how the man in their lives worked.

"But then he changed, he changed and everything was perfect again. Nothing ever went wrong and I got a bit cocky. I think I thought that nothing could ever touch us, never break apart the partnership we created. The Daleks couldn't, and they were the one thing he was scared of more than anything. We were untouchable. Then, I met Sarah Jane and I realized, things happen and people can get left behind. Whether they're ready to leave or not."

"Tell me about it." Martha mumbles.

"You're not going to be left behind Martha. I won't let that happen." Rose says, and the words are powerful, and it's hard for her not to believe them. So Martha nods, a display of trust for the older companion.

She stares into Rose's depths, seeing the despair there, the determination that she hadn't noticed yesterday. It's obvious when they found each other, something ignited a small flicker within her, a desperate urge to survive and live again. She sees guilt hidden under layers and layers of snowy indifference. The shame that she could have done better tried harder to live a better life and know that he would have come for her sooner. And at the same time, Martha senses Rose's new ability to see the forest through the trees. That she's already regained a sense of self and respect. It's as though this time, if anything happens, she's had closure. She's ready to start really living for the first time in years.

"After Sarah, Mickey wanted to come along, wanted to experience what it was all about. I remember being such a cow to him for the first few nights, making him feel unwanted in hopes he'd ask to return home. But he was so resilient, he always was. He just pretended he couldn't hear the sarcasm in my voice, couldn't sense my discontent. He tried so hard to just make it work."

"Did it work?" Martha whispers.

"It started too. We just fell through the vortex for the first few days because the Doctor had some repairs to make on the ship. I think he just did it to make Mickey feel uneasy and have some form of cabin fever, but even that didn't get to him. He kept exploring the ship, set up his room and did it all with a smile on his face."

"He sounds like he was a nice bloke."

"He was." Rose admits that her voice gets higher and almost cracking. She shakes her head and lifts her eyes to the ceiling, and Martha wonders if it's a way for her to hold back the tears.

"That was so long ago." Rose laughs in a tone that sounds hollow and worn. Martha can't find it within herself to follow suit, so instead, she continues to listen intently.

"The Doctor took us to this spaceship, that wasn't just a spaceship."

"Of course." Martha chortles, an interjection she uses to show the similarities between them. But Rose just smiles.

"The whole situation is a bit hazy now. I remember we were trying to save this woman named Madame de Pompadour. Somehow the ship was a window into her life, a window into 18th century France. The logistics really don't matter because it was a pretty illogical situation. But I remember that he _cared_ for her. Desired her. I could see it in his eyes."

"How did that make you feel?" Martha asks, unable to resist the opportunity to understand how to deal with the awkwardness of low self-worth.

"I felt. I felt…" Rose starts, unable to find the words. "I felt enlightened. I was disappointed, terrified even."

"You felt terrified because he cared about someone different than you?"

"No… I was terrified because he didn't."

"I don't, I'm not following."

"I know, I'm sorry I'm not making much sense." Rose says, reaching out and rubbing Martha's shin, "I mean that, as I sat there and waited for him. I was wondering what we were going to do, thinking about our options. I went through a bunch of different feelings. First I was numb and lost, knowing that there had been no other option. That if I had been in his shoes I would have done the same thing. Then I was angry, angry he left Mickey and I behind, enraged that he never thought to give me any directions before charging off to save her. And then I was tired. I was tired because I had cried non stop for two hours."

"You said you felt enlightened though."

"That came after the crying. Because it was then I really started thinking rationally. I realized he did it because, that was just who he was. He would have done the same for me, he would have done the same for Mickey. He would have done the same if it had been a man or woman. His main desire and drive is to _help_ if he thinks he can. It always will be and it is his one true greatness and fault. His Achilles heel. I started to wonder, maybe he never told me what to do because he trusted me enough to know I would do the right thing. I started to think, maybe that was all I could ever ask for, was what I had experienced here, with him."

"What did Mickey do?"

"Well, Mickey did what Mickey did best in those days. He tore the Doctor down, cursed his name and was done with it. After a good half hour of moaning and complaining he got up and started trying to think of contingency plans. Kept asking me if there was a TARDIS manual."

"A TARDIS manual?!"

"I know. He was a mechanic. Thought if he could drive a car he could pilot a TARDIS. Bless him."

A moment or two of silence passes before Martha pipes up. "But you said, you said that you realized he doesn't love anyone differently."

"That's right." Rose answers, her eyes meeting Martha's, "Regardless of what he says, he cares about us all equally enough to do what he thinks is the just thing. Didn't matter if she had been his truest love, someone he desired, or the most annoying creature he had ever had to deal with. Her life mattered to him. Just like everyone's does."

Martha nods in agreement, thinking about her own experiences with the man they both have such high thoughts regarding. "You were terrified because you realized that one of these days, he wouldn't have a magic plan to save everyone."

"In this instance it was actually a magic door, but you're bang on the money."

"I didn't think he had a plan either. They threw me into a hut and guarded the door. I didn't know if they planned on killing me, raping me or eating me. It was all too scary. He told me after that everything was fine and that he knew they had been harmless in the grand scheme of things. But those were just words to me. I had for the first time realized that one day he may not be able to save me from the monsters in the closet."

Both nod silently, an affirmation to each other that they both finally understand.

"How did he end up saving you?" Rose asks, a curious look on her face.

"That's where River and the marriage comes in. He needed her advice as an anthropologist and how to get me back with the least amount of destruction. The Doctor had to challenge him to win me back, and he had to get permission from his first wife according to tribe law. They fed me, I didn't know at the time, they tasted like water chestnuts, but they gave me my powers."

"What did he challenge him too?"

"According to him, he challenged the chief to a spelling bee."

"Yeah, well he once told me that he sang a song and the Daleks ran away. So…" Rose says, trailing off for a moment. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't really know." Martha sighs, stretching her back out. "I guess anything is possible, but I didn't witness the 'spelling bee' if you're asking."

"How did you know you had the powers?" Rose inquires, no time they share to waste on even the most comfortable of silences.

She looks at the older companion; at face value, they look like best mates, two girls who could have grown up side by side catching up after a few years apart at schools. But that's not really what's going on here. This is who she replaced, whether he wanted it or not. It's not like she asked to come along for the ride, but it doesn't mean that it will hurt less when she gets dropped off at home.

"River told me. She wanted me to be prepared for what it meant. I didn't want to believe it at first, as it grew it was strictly emotions in the beginning. At times it was like, I could feel what other people felt. My mum always said it was that I was just graced with unlimited compassion and empathy, but this was something different." She stops for a moment, remembering her first time. It seems like ages ago now, so long since she could just _feel_ them and not hear every definitive word and image.

"The first time I really realized it was when my brother was listening to music. Some metal song came, I was listening to him sing along with it, and I realized, I realized that was exactly how he felt. I know that sounds a bit daft, but you had to have known Leo, he wasn't a metal head. He was a bookworm, a quiet, funny bloke. He never seemed unhappy at all. But he was so angry, I could feel it prickling against my skin."

"That must have been so awkward. To know what he's feeling although he thinks he's hiding it." Rose murmurs thoughtfully, touching Martha's hand.

"Sometimes we can be unfair in our ignorance, although we think we are doing the right thing." Rose whispers, a distant look in her eyes and Martha looks away. She doesn't want to intrude, making the other woman feel uncomfortable when she returns to reality. She's been doing a lot of thinking these days as well. It's only respectful.

"The more we were travelling the more words started to appear. At first I thought it was neat, but then… well, then-"

_"Make it stop! Please, make the voices stop!" she screams, trying to pull herself up the front of his long coat, unsure of who she's grasping, her eyes unfocused on the person in front of her. Taking hold of her arms, he pulls her closer to himself, and she can hear a new sound amongst the chaotic roar in her mind._

_"Follow me…" it whispers, dulling the screams around her._

"It got worse." Rose finishes, the words are more natural for her to find in her present situation than Martha to wrap her lips around. It brings back Martha to the edge of reality, the weight of the circumstances that her new friend is facing.

"It got worse." Martha repeats, the words too late to hold any value other than repetition. They stare at each other, a soft understanding developing between them, a sense of strength that only grows stronger and deeper till there is a knock at the door.

"Come in," Martha calls, both looking to see who the intruder is. The Doctor pokes his head through the door. "Martha, Rose… What are you doing here?"

"Well this is my room." Martha states, a hint of gentle sarcasm in her voice. "And Rose is my guest."

"Guest. Right. Been talking have we?" He asks, entering casually, his hands in his pockets. There's a strong hint of careless apathy in his voice, so blatantly forced, it causes both of them to giggle. He gives a rather shocked look to their spontaneous reaction to his unfortunate act before Rose shakes her head.

"Honestly, must the entire universe revolve around you?" She asks, pushing a red strand of hair behind her face as she gazes at him, rather amused.

"No only on Tuesdays. Look I came here to talk to Martha, in private if I may Rose." He says, closing the door behind him and scratching behind his left ear.

_Oh, dear Martha, I believe that's a sign he's nervous._

**_I know, that and when he begins babbling about nineteen eighties pop cul-_ **

"Oi! I can hear you two!" He interrupts, sounding somewhat offended. They laugh raucously, an infectious sound that almost has him smiling despite himself.

"Sorry." Martha manages to chuckle out.

"Yes, I'll do well to remember to keep it down." Rose quips as she lifts herself off the bed and towards the door.

"Yes well, I would appreciate that. Rose," He says, stopping her from exiting. The confined space has them face to face as she looks up, "if you have a moment, I'd like to meet you in the study in about, oh, half an hour?"

"When have you ever asked?"

"Well I'm asking now."

She nods her head lightly, amusement glinting in her eye like mischief unmanaged.

"Right." She murmurs, turning back to the girl on the bed and winking, "We can finish later, I'm off to have a shower."

"Oh definitely." Martha chimes happily as Rose closes the door behind her.


	23. Reparations

Rose sighs, her fingers tracing the outside of the door, and she shakes her head. 

Martha. 

Martha will take good care of him when all is said and done, and there's very little left of Rose. She'll help him through his grief and sorrow, past his pain and loss. Martha will be the one to help him move on, and that's all she can really hope for at the end of the day.

As Rose and the Wolf begin their stroll down the corridor, her pace slows, and the TARDIS hums her appreciation at the tender strokes Rose administers against the surface of its walls. She continues walking down hallways and up staircases until she finds a familiar door to a room she had begun to think she had only imagined.

She opens the door to the newly christened bedroom. Rose realizes she should make the bed before she walks over to an open closet sitting in the corner. Clothing that will fit her hangs there, various styles throughout the last few centuries. The Wolf smiles, her fingers trace through a few simple items, and grabs what she needs before heading through a door she assumes is the shower.

The whole bathroom is larger than the TARDIS has ever shown her before, and she's surprised at the open concept. The room itself seems to be the shower and the bath. The left side is a standing area with showerheads all over the walls that slowly drain towards a tub carved into the middle of the room's floor. The Wolf is pleased by the decadence. The TARDIS knows what she likes.

"I'm sure we will get along just fine," the Wolf murmurs to the ship before turning on the hot water.

~***~

* * *

"You have something to say to me?" Martha asks as he stands right inside her door, fidgeting with his glasses. The boldness of the question catches him off guard, and he finds himself sitting down and trying to get comfortable in the wicker chair near the end of her bed. She watches him with a bemused look as he crosses his legs one way, then decides to try crossing them another.

Sighing, he finds a position and meets her eyes, seeing the expectance and hesitation there.

"I came… I came to…"

**_"Martha, what's going on here? What do you know?"_ **

_"Nothing," she answers a little too fast._

**_"Don't lie to me. I know you know something!"_ **

"Well?" she asks.

"I came to apologize." He tells her, having the decency to look ashamed. 

"I don't know what came over me, but there is no excuse."

"Seems to me you've been doing that a lot today." She answers with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"What makes you say that?"

"Rose. She told me that you were on your way to finding Romana when she found me."

"Right, I forgot, you lot seem to be chatting up quite the storm." He sighs, placing his weary head in his hands. What he had feared the most out of this reunion has finally come to fruition. They have united and become one against him. He knows he's never going to hear the end of it.

"About the oncoming storm? _Never_."

"Alright, you've had your laugh."

"No, I don't think I have," the dry wit laced with frustration dripping off her every word, "and since you're the one coming to me for forgiveness, I think I may drag out your suffering just a little bit more." 

She ponders, her eyes turning to the ceiling in exaggerated wonderment.

He is unamused.

"Martha, this isn't a joking matter." 

"It seems pretty funny to me."

"What I did was wrong!" he tells her with frustrated exacerbation. It causes her grin to falter and the light that gleams in her eyes to fade just a little. It's a look that he does not often see, a face that he feels more shame for creating. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair once more, lamenting and shaking his head.

"What you did was horrifically wrong, and as you once put it, it was 'unforgivable, and punishable by things better left unsaid.' But that didn't stop you, and that wouldn't stop you from doing it again if the circumstances were the same and that rules out you promising to never do it again. So what does that leave us? An action with a consequence that you can _pretend_ matters to you, but it doesn't. You can't have the best of both worlds. You can't feel sorry for yourself right and proper if you're always moving on. So instead, let's just cut out the fifteen minutes of morose self-loathing and move on with our lives. If or when you do it again, is the day I'm done." She tells him, getting off her bed to open the door for him.

"Does that mean you can forgive me?" He asks, standing from the chair and looking at her like a wounded puppy. He can't help but feel the sting of her words, the brutal truth behind them that he wishes he could be ignorant. But that was one of those things about Martha that drew him to her. She always knew how to keep things realistic.

"Does it matter?" she asks, leaning her body against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest as she meets his eyes. He thinks long and hard about her question, a show of respect to her. Does it matter to him if she forgives him? Yes. Can he imagine his life, Martha-less? Yes. That's always apart of the deal. 

"Yes. It will always matter, just like I would like to believe that I could never do that again. That I wasn't myself." 

She holds his gaze, the scrutiny in her eyes almost unbearable at moments, but he stays strong, never wavering from his judge and jury.

"Then, yes, I forgive you. I'll always forgive you, dummy. You're my best FRIEND." She tells him, stepping out of the doorway so he can walk past her. He nods his head and stands there, unable to find the right response to her words, and Martha ends up speaking first.

"I also forgive you because I learned something about you."

He had been staring at his feet in well-earned shame until that moment. Now, he meets Martha's earnest dark eyes.

"I learned that some people make you a little more human, and with all that wisdom, age, mania and power, that doesn't always mean it's going to be a good thing. Now get the hell out and go see Rose, while you still can."

~***~

* * *

_"It likes you." Rose hears a familiar voice call out._

_She sees the Doctor leaning against a different tree, an unusual tree that apparently does not move or lift people off the ground in its branches. He just stays there as the tree turns her upside down, his leather-clad arms crossed across his chest, a look of amusement etched into the lines of his face._

_"Well, give me a hand then!"_

_"Nah, you're doin' just fine, Rose," he calls out as the tree dumps her on her head at its base._

_Getting up, she dusted herself off and walked towards her alien partner._

_"Lotta good you are, suppose it was tryin' to eat me. Whatcha do then?" she asks, tilting her head to one side, and placing her hands on her hips._

_His lips break into a wide grin as he places his hands on her shoulders._

_"What a silly question. The tree would never eat you. It's a herbivore."_

_"What is this place?" she inquires as she places her hands in the back of her denim pockets._

_"This is the TARDIS's favourite room. It's the conservatory, and it's all we have left of my planet."_

Correction, all that was left of his planet until Romana and her crew appeared from a different universe. Rose found the door on her way to see the Doctor. Now she walks through the overgrown paths, feeling the heat of the too-bright lights and the sounds of the water trickling down the artificial waterfall brings a tear to her eye. She sighs, walking up to her old friend, the tree, which moves to run her hands across the bark. The tree shivers and quakes, it's leaves fluttering and branches stretching as if waking from some great sleep. Gently, one of the many extremities creaks down to stroke her cheek before rubbing her back.

"Careful. Last time you got too close to her, I heard you scream from the other side of the TARDIS."

She turns to face him, the Captain who she's been avoiding—the tree wrapping its branch around her as a sign of protection.

"Jack."

They stand there, with his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, suspenders hanging loosely around the bottom of his pants, and arms folded over his chest. Rose breathes in the room's scent, the heat surrounding them, and the guilt that overwhelms her. The trees grip tightens, and she needs to stroke the branch and whisper acknowledgements to allow it to let her go. After hesitating for a moment, the branch unwraps her and pulls away from her.

"I never came to your rescue that day, hearing you scream bloody murder. I always figured he would have it covered. Sure enough, he did, wasn't more than ten minutes later you two came down, him grinning madly like he always did with you trailing behind like a cat who just ate cream. I would have thought he finally gave you what you were after if I didn't know any better." The words are genuine, a remembrance, not an attack. The tears well in the corners of her eyes, brimming over and down her cheeks.

"Jack." She half sobs but still can't move her feet, incapable of reaching out to him. He slowly walks closer to her, a devilish glint in his eye, the side of his mouth curled in a charming smirk.

"I always try to remember you both like that, happy and free. Tried to remember the good times we shared. We had good times, didn't we, Rose?"

They stand face to face now, her eyes looking up at him, so sorrowful and lost, her bottom lip trembling. If she had ever wronged anyone, if ever she knew that someone had suffered by her hand, it was Jack.

He catches her trembling chin with his thumb and forefinger, holding her steady as he places his other hand behind her back. The contact is unbearable, the gaze too overpowering, and she so badly wants to look away, but he holds her there, forces her to look at him. In his eyes, she sees it, his need to make her understand, not to suffer but to confront what they share, what they both know to be true. She sees the tears well in his own eyes, the pain and turmoil she has suffered mirrored in his own piercing blue stare.

"Jack, I'm so sorry." She cries, the words coming out agonizingly high. He takes a shuddering breath, pressing a kiss to her forehead as his own tears spill from the corners of his eyes. He places his hand on the back of her head and pushes her to his chest, holding her tightly in his arms.

"I know sweetheart, I know."

They stay that way for several more moments, holding each other tightly, crying, kissing and laughing. They are two of a kind; even if she shares her soul with the Doctor, she cannot deny now that she doesn't share a part of herself with Jack. With Grace. Anyone who she has brought back with the vortex. They all hold little pieces of her. Jack is here because of her; Jack is tied to her in ways that no other in the universe could understand.

And it's not fair to him.

Jack takes her face in his hands, kissing her forehead and pulling her away just enough to look into her eyes; she can see the happiness in his, the love and adoration for her. She feels his forgiveness.

"Hello." She squeaks, and he laughs at her, pulling her back to his chest to hold her close.

"Oh, honey. You make a fabulous redhead."

~***~

* * *

"Doctor?"

Rose creaks the door open and sticks her head inside to see the Doctor waiting for her. Once his presence is confirmed, she enters and turns to shut the door behind her. He sits at his desk, an old journal of hers in her hands, left in her room over the last few years.

"You're late." He chimes, placing the lace bookmark between the folded pages and closing the leaves to give her his attention.

"Nah, you were just punctual." She tells him as she saunters towards where he sits. She feels his eyes studying her, drinking her in from head to foot, and she feels the hair at the nape of her neck stand to attention as her stomach tied in knots. Watching, she notices his brow furrow in consternation and worriment, "Have you been crying?"

Surprised by his forwardness, she wipes her cheeks once more, worried there is a sign or indication that betrays her previous state.

"Not anymore, no." She sits beside him, moving her body closer to his, and he wraps his arm around her. The glasses fall down to the tip of his nose. He touches her hair before he asks her what's wrong.

"It's fine, really. I just talked to Jack, is all."

"Oh, brilliant. How'd that go?"

"We're going to be okay. Were you reading my journal?"

She feels his arms tense around her.

"Does that bother you?"

"No." Why would it? They now share the ability to show each other _everything_. They both see the possibilities and their realities together until the end of the day. 

Days are all they have left.

She smiles in awe at how openly affectionate he's being. Or maybe he's always been that way, and it just feels different because there are no real secrets left between them. Either way, she doesn't want it to go away. They stay like that for a few minutes, gazing into each other's eyes as he continued to stroke her hair before she shakes her head.

"What?" he asks her, pulling his hand away and resting it on her thigh.

"Nothing," she swallows, shaking her head,' You just seem… different."

"Different." He repeats before sliding his hand behind her back and drawing her into his lap. She bends down, so her lips are against his earlobe before she whispers.

"Different."

"Well, that very well may be because I am different." He murmurs into her collarbone before pressing his lips to them and gently sucking along her shoulder's line.

She exhales shakily as she tries to enjoy these small moments of intimacy.

"Peter?"

"With Romana, learning about Gallifrey." 

"Mmmmm." Rose softly sighs, tilting her neck back to give him more purchase.

In other universes, very few, but some. They went on to have children, to live long lives side by side.  
To explore their feelings until they were content to just sit in front of the telly and cuddle.   
To travel the universe together in the TARDIS until she died of old age.   
And as he puts her diary down with his glasses, Rose thanks the Wolf for sitting this one out again, so she can cherish it.

The last of her days. 

~***~

_Dear Leo,_

_Remember when we were younger, and Christopher Washins asked me to the Snowbash Ball? If he didn't have me home by 10:30, you told him that the thousands of dollars his parents spent on braces would be a complete waste. I asked you what would happen if something we couldn't control stopped us. Like a car accident or the school being invaded by killer aliens from outer space._

_Well, something has happened._

_And the car is fine._

"Martha?"

She didn't even hear him knock, let alone open the door, but as she turns in her chair to see his head poke around the edge of the frame, his bangs falling into his eyes, she can't help but smile at him.

"Jack, it's okay, come in."

He enters, closing the door behind him and moving to the bed. Martha waits till he lies down, his hands linked under his head, his feet crossed. She smiles; the scene is tranquil as he grins in return.

_Remember when I used to call you my little baby brother even though you were only eleven months younger? Mom called us Irish twins, even after we told her how xenophobic it sounded. It got so hard to continue to call you little when you could lean your elbows on my shoulders and rest your head on mine. Then we started calling you my big baby brother. I don't know why I mention that now, but it keeps popping in my mind from time to time. Like when we used to hide shoes on Tish, but only one from each pair, so they were mismatched. She'd be so mad at us! Always threatening to tell mum. Never did have the heart to do so though, never wanted to get us in trouble. She's got a good heart, our Tish._

_Make sure it doesn't get broken._

"What are you doing?" he questions curiously, the side of his mouth curving more into a smirk.

"I'm…" she begins, only stopping to look back at the barely touched piece of paper then back to Jack, "writing a letter to my brother."

"Interesting." He remarks, sitting up and moving to where she sits. "May I?"

She nods, letting him look over her shoulder while she chews the bottom of her pen.

_It's hard to imagine you sitting there, where ever you may be now, reading the words I'm sitting here right now writing. Time travel makes you think of time in a new light. It's no longer in a straight line but an infinite loop crashing into itself. I always think of it like that snake, eating itself. It's as if Time has no pity or remorse, just apathy to continue marching on. Like the waves of the Atlantic crashing against the shore, never stopping._

_But then I could be wrong._

_The Doctor's shown me that they can._

"I don't know why I'm even bothering."

"Because it's cathartic?"

"Maybe, still… it's not like he'll ever get it." She sighs.

"What makes you say that?" Jack asks as he leans over her, his hands resting on her chair and desk, his eyes still focused on the paper.

"Well, as I see it, there are two options here. One, we all die in a fiery tragic death or two I die in a fiery tragic death, and even then, he's not going to have the guts to go deliver it to my brother."

"I think sometimes you underestimate him," Jack murmurs, his gaze meeting hers.

"I'm sure I do."

They stay that way for a few moments before she looks away, blushing.

"Leo asked me to stay home last time. I was worried it was the last time I saw him."

"Do you really think that it was?"

_You asked me once if it was worth all of it, the danger of it all. After you found out that the Doctor was there when Adeola died. It was hard to look you in the eye and not feel shame, meet your gaze, and know I could never explain it to you. It was just one of those things you'd have to be there for. This is why Tish never got us when we were kids; we were always in too much damn trouble. She never understood half our jokes. Anyway, you asked me, and I told you nothing could compare. I still believe that although the road may be a rocky one, it was what I intended. After all, I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference. I made you read that poem long before school assigned it. Remember?_

_I'm so silly. For all the travelling I've done, and for all the things I've seen. I sit here and have nothing to say but 'Remember when?' And maybe that's all I've learned, perhaps that's all that matters in the end, is the experiences and joys you share together._

_Maybe that's all a relationship is. It's time and moments in space where you connect and share some level of intimacy together. All I can tell you is I love you. Take care of Mom and Dad, but I'm sure you know that already. Without me there for you to play big brother (you never listened to me when I screamed I was older than you, so bugger off), I'm sure you've been doing the same to Tish. I wonder how she deals with it._

_I bet she loves it._

_Goodbye Leo,_

_Love you always,_

"I absolutely love stationery." She says, looking back to Jack, the pen's end still at home in her mouth.

"Really."

"Mmmhmmm. I'm a strange girl who has always had a small quirky affiliation with fine stationery. I used to caress the edges, smell the sheets, and press my cheek to their cold surface."

"Martha—"

"The Doctor knows this." She continues, "I can't remember if I told him or he caught me doing so one day. For my birthday last year, he bought me a chest with pages made from white rose petals and iridescent mood-changing ink. But there's always been a catch, even when I lived on Earth. The nicer the paper and pens, the less likely I'd use them."

"Waiting to use it for something you thought worthy." He interjects, bending at the knees to be at eye level with her.

"Exactly."

"What's the problem?"

"Look at the paper Jack."

They both let their gaze fall back on the leaves, the iridescent ink drying on the crinkled and layered paper. Martha hears his half chuckle, the comprehension of her point sinking in. She looks back to him to find his face down, the bangs covering his eyes as he shakes his head. Tears well in the corners of her own at the sight, the weight of reality finally catching up with her.

He lifts his eyes to meet hers; the sadness that she feels is reflected in his steely blue gaze. His lips are tight, his face undaunting, but she knows that it's a way to hide his true feelings in the short time she's known him.

"Martha, **_if_** anything happens to you, I promise you. I'll make sure your brother gets your letter."

"I'm the only non-immortal human on board. The Time Lords can all regenerate. First, how about we just try to stop anything from happening to me." She chuckles, the tears spilling out the corners, cascading down her smooth and flawless cheeks.

She watches as Jack reaches up one hand to wipe them away, to calm her tears, his fingers lingering along the trails created. She observes him, almost incredulously at the compassion and attention he's bestowing on her.

That's when they hear the cloister bell.

~***~

"Bad different or good different?" He asks her, his mouth trailing from her thigh up to her navel.

"I'm still trying to focus, with much difficulty might I add, on the fact that you concede something is different when I still haven't decided for myself if I believe you are," Rose confesses, the flush of her body receding.

"Don't you trust me when I tell you something's different?"

"Interesting, might I ask, what is so different about you?" She inquires, cocking her head to the side in amusement. She watches him as he moves above her, tracing his lips along her jawline.

"Certainly, you may ask. Doesn't mean I'm going to tell you."

"Oh, that's how it's going to be."

"Whatever happened to the sanctity of the guess?" He presses his head to her chest, and she lifts her hands to run her fingers through his hair.

"Whatever happened to just answering the bloody question?" 

She missed this, missed the idle chit-chat, the randomness of their conversing. There were times she tried with her dad and with Mickey, but neither were very talkative people, and her mother would just ramble on about things that never really interested her.

She's missed having a friend.

"It's the suit." He tells her, interrupting her thoughts.

"What?"

"The suit." Her Time Lord bounces out of her arms and stands, waving his arms from his chest down his body.

"The difference lies in a suit." She states, trying to comprehend what he's babbling about. The Doctor nods, a maniacal grin stretching across his handsome face. The lines around his eyes sinking deeply as they twinkle underneath the wisp of bangs that hang in front of them.

"Oh, what a lovely sentence! Did you ever think of taking up advertising?"

"For three years in my sixties. I must admit it's a pretty snazzy suit." Rose informs him, pulling her pants up and adjusting her clothing.

"Snazzy is correct. I would have also accepted flash, brilliant, funky or blue." He's looking at the mirror in the corner to admire himself. She watches him as he turns and looks behind him, checking himself out, and it makes her giggle.

"Why are we talking about your suit?"

"Because I needed to know your opinion," he tells her, pulling her up off the leather sofa.

"You need me for an opinion on your new suit."

"Of course. I try to be quite stylish."

"Not from the pictures I've seen." She mutters under her breath, causing him to ultimately stop staring at himself and his new outfit.

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing." She returns, looking at the ceiling in an exaggerated gesture of innocence. After a few moments of feigned purity, she meets his eye and smirks impishly before backing up and sitting upon his desk.

"As I was saying, I recently have tried to be quite stylish."

"That still doesn't answer why you need my opinion."

"Are you fishing for compliments?"

"What do you call what you're doing?"

"I was looking for an opinion, if you must know, I have high respect for yours." The Time Lord responds indignantly, his nose rising to the air as he slowly stalks towards her, "After all, I only take the best."

Rose shivers at the sight of him. His prowl and stance as he comes to stand in front of her. 

"I see that you seem to have quite good taste in women. I applaud you." she wraps her hands around his tie.

"I do seem to remember saying I only take the best? Moments ago, even."

"You sure do. I bet Martha's made an _excellent_ wife." And it takes everything within her not to smile or laugh. She sees the strain in his body, the new stress in his stance almost as soon as the words leave her mouth. For a few seconds, the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

"Oh yes, about that… I can explain it."

"I'm sure you can. You're always full of magnificent explanations. I just need you to know, I'm not that kinda girl. I think I told you once before, I'm not interested in married men. Almost broke up a marriage once, and that was just by accident. I never planned on doing it again."

"Yes, I am the despicable husband, I'm sure. But trust me, it's not a union of romance," he tells her, his hands slipping around her, and he stands between her legs.

"There was never any doubt in my mind. I bet it was all for the money."

"The money?" He balks as she throws her arms over his shoulders.

"Yes, as I seem to recall, that's all that ever mattered to you when we were together. It was always 'if we only had the coin to go here.' And 'when we have the money, we'll do this.' I knew it was inevitable. Eventually, you would need a financier to live this exotic bachelor lifestyle."

"Mmm, you've caught me. There was only one small flaw in this master evil plan of mine." He whispers in her ear, leaning closer to her.

"Oh?" She replies, her skin turning to gooseflesh.

"Her fiancé previous to me was the one with the riches. And by riches, I mean the nicest mud hut on the block and a few extra pieces of slug at the dinner table. He was the chief of the Lakawkanitole tribe, a very respectable individual." He pulls her closer to his body, and her pulse quickens.

"What a prestigious title."

"I have a doctorate in prestigious titles."

"You have a doctorate in many things." She murmurs against his lips, his lips slide between hers, and she feels the heat flush through her body once more. She's starting to feel guilty about how insatiable they both have been behaving. He pulls back and continues.

"And yet for some reason, I still need sugar, momma."

"If I live to never hear you say that again, I'll die a happy woman."

The room goes silent, the look in his eyes painful and tragic as she realizes the words that have slipped from her mouth. He pulls out of their embrace, and she feels like all the air is being pulled out of the room.

"Rose—" He starts, but she doesn't give him a chance to finish. Rose recognizes that she is running away from the situation, finding a way of not dealing with her emanate demise. For close to a century, all Rose has wanted is to fade away, fall into the blackness that consumes her and never worry again. After he found her, after Rose has said all the things she's needed to say, she doesn't know what to feel.

She's still ready to let go, even content with the idea of death, yet she wants to live for her last moments and pretend that this will never end.

Rose stands at her name's sound, sliding from him and away from the desk, walking towards the books lining the shelves.

"I don't know where you found the time to read all of these."

"You're asking a Time Lord where he found the time."

"Touché."

"We need to talk about the Wolf Rose about the War. About what's going to happen." He tries again, walking up behind her and wrapping his arm around her waist. She breathes a heavy sigh, leaning back into the embrace as he gently rocks her from side to side.

"There's nothing to talk about." She replies, pressing her head against his cheek as she closes her eyes. She feels as though the world's weight is being lifted from her shoulders; in just spending the last twenty-four or so hours with him, she's already started to feel free from her entities, free from her responsibility. She has never before felt such peace from her passengers. She opens up the barriers of her mind for him, something she's still a little rusty doing, for she's never thought of her abilities that way. But she manages and invites him into her mind, calls him to her. Together, they merge in thoughts, the bliss of their supernova still warming them and flourishing in their hearts.

**_Romana thinks she has a way to save you._ **

_Then why are you so worried?_

**_It could also result in the exact opposite. Again, I don't trust her._ **

_Those trust issues are speaking again._

**_Just… if Romana comes to you, please tell me what she says. I don't want her roping you into something that may not be in your best interest. Something's going on here, and I can't put my finger on it. Let's just say she's a Time Lord, and I know what they can be like._ **

_I would imagine you would._

**_I love you, Rose Tyler._ **

_You've been saying that a lot lately._

**_Sorry… you weren't… well, I guess you were meant to hear that; it's hard to shut off my mind._ **

_I can empathize._

**_Promise me you'll tell me if she comes to you._ **

_Why? What does it really matter in the end?_

"What?" he asks, turning her around in his arms, looking down into her face. But she winces in pain, letting a soft cry go as her hand shoots up to the back of her neck. Confused, he turns her around again, pulling back her hair to see what is bothering her.

"What is this?" he asks, his voice cold and distant.

"It's just a marking. It's something the Ouroboros left me after my training."

"…The Ouroboros?" he questions, his hold on her arms tightening. Her heart rate increases.

"Yes, they helped us defeat the Glarecox. This was their symbol."

He lets her go, and she turns to look at him to see how his face reads, so she knows what they're dealing with. The look there is one mixed of worry, fear, and hesitation.

"The Ouroboros were the ones who branded you, snake-like aliens."

"Yes."

There is only one problem with that."

"What?" she asks him, her own voice holding fear and dread.

"That isn't the symbol of Ouroboros."

"How do you know?"

"Because that's a Gallifreyan symbol."

"That still doesn't seem that terrible."

"It means that you've been had." He tells her, holding her chin in determination.

"So I was had, they still helped me control my inner beasts."

"Yes, but ask yourself, why would a species pose as another race after swooping in and becoming your hero by teaching you about a prophecy that needs to be fulfilled?"

"Because… they created the prophecy." She realizes in distinct horror. A warning bell is going off in her mind, or is that throughout the TARDIS?

"Precisely."


	24. The Wicked

Romana's position over by the viewing screen when they come bursting into the console room.

"That's not a very good sound Romana." The Doctor hints and Rose can tell from his tone that he's doing everything in his power not to drive the other Time Lord out of the way and take over his ship. She watches them, her hands pressed to her sides as they both begin turning and pulling things that she still doesn't know all the names of.

"Glarecox have entered Earth's atmosphere. It's only a matter of time before they sense us in the vortex." She tells him, sparks and lights flashing everywhere around them.

Rose manages to hold her ground, the ship's sway making her use the railing for balance. The light flashing all around her changing rapidly to a red colour. "Is there anything I can do!?"

"Yes, stay out of the way." He tells her passing by Romana to hit a button on her left. She hears running coming down the corridor, Martha and Jack finding their way into the console room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jack asks; he catches Martha as a violent shudder wracks the ship. Rose wraps her arms tighter around the steel bar.

"I have no idea!" Rose calls out when it's evident that the Doctor and Romana aren't going to answer him. Both Martha and Jack slowly try making their way to the seats installed from Romana's TARDIS so they can buckle up as Fren comes flying into the room. Her balance is seemingly unaffected.

"About bloody time!" The Doctor snaps.

"System failure's reaching thirty percent," Romana calls out, her voice sounding strained about the bell.

"Where is Anais?!" Fren asks as she begins to help by pulling levers and pushing buttons.

"I was about to ask you the same question!" The Doctor barks, his body going flying into the railing behind him as another vicious shudder causes havoc to the TARDIS. Rose slowly lowers herself to the ground and tries snaking over to him, his face contorted in pain.

"If you must know, I was washing. I had to replace my clothing before coming to help. I have no idea where Anais is. I haven't seen him in hours."

"Thirty-five percent loss!"

They move with a semblance of grace around the console calling out instructions and system crashes to each other as Rose finally makes it to where he's fallen.

"Please tell me, what's going on?" she asks him, trying to help him as they both pull themselves up the railing.

"I don't know. But it's not good. It's the opposite of good. It's bad. Mal. Lemnu—"

"Doctor!"

He stops rambling and meets her scrutinizing eyes.

"The cloister bell only rings if there is an impending universal catastrophe." He tells Rose, pushing his way from the railing and immersing himself in helping his two fellow Time Lords with the controls.

With one last brutal shake, the TARDIS stills, the bell's daunting last vibration echoes throughout the room as a final warning, the light turning back to a familiar green. All remains quiet other than the heavy breathing of everyone in the room.

"Is everyone alright?" the Doctor starts, "Rose?"

"Yes."

"Martha?"

"Alive."

"Jack, Romana?"

Jack nods, and Romana meets his eyes. "We've lost more than 75 of power. All that's left is keeping us breathing and in stasis within the time vortex."

"What about backup su—"

"Gone."

He nods, an affirmation that no one else seems to notice but Rose. She watches as Martha begins to unbuckle herself, how Jack pulls himself off the floor and how Fren moves to Martha to check to see if she's alright. The quietness, unease in the room is not pleasant. Something is off; something's gone wrong.

The cloister bell rang.

"I have information that may help the situati—"

"Doesn't matter." Romana interrupts him, her chest heaving as she reads the scans off of the display screen.

"But I think it does, it has to do with the Our—"

"Doctor I said, it doesn't matter."

Rose guardedly looked at him, troubled by the anger etched into his features at Romana's blatant dismissal. She can see the passion and rage brewing behind his dark eyes and wonders if that's where the nickname comes from.

He looks like an oncoming storm.

"You know, for someone who's apparently been through a Time War, you seem to not really have a strong grip on things."

Rose flinches at the ferocity in his words and sees instantly how Romana takes note.

"What did you just say to me?" she challenges him, her own words full of fury and power. If only the electricity between them could be harnessed and used, they'd have enough energy to power two TARDIS. She sees the edge of Romana's jaw, how she stands her ground waiting for the Doctor to serve the ball again, he had caught her off guard, and she won't have it yet this time.

"I said that if you've been through a Time War, you should be dealing with the situation better."

"Well, we could always deal with it your way. That ended up working really well." She snaps.

"Not that it really matters, but that was your call, not mine."

"Doctor," Rose interjects her vision, falling on the screen in front of her. The readings aren't entirely clear, but she can already make out a few words here and there, a few things that she knows are crucial to them both.

"Oh, I see, so I still had to do the dirty work for you in this universe as well!"

"Dirty work? What would you know about dirty work? Tell me, Romana, just how did you survive the Time War?"

"Doctor—" she tries again, the word Ouroboros appearing before her, the letters bold and daunting. It causes a chill to run down her spine, knowing there is a connection.

"Just one minute Rose! Tell me, Romana, tell me all about it!"

"We survived…" Romana falters.

"Oh, I've stumped you now, have I?"

"We survived because you were dead!"

The entire room echoes with her obviously hurtful words. Rose looks up to see the realization in his eyes that he's gone too far.

"What?"

"You died on the front line. We figured out a _different_ way of defeating the Daleks. Therefore you weren't there to push the button."

_"A great big threatening button!" he says, as he runs up the stairs laughing._

_"A Great Big Threatening Button Which Must Not Be Pressed Under Any Circumstances, am I right?" he asks the Sycorax leader, who follows him up the stairs…_

_"Which leaves us with a great big stinking problem.' Cause… I really don't know who I am. I don't know when to stop. So if I see a Great Big Threatening Button Which Should Never Ever Be Pressed… then I just want to do this!" he exclaims with delighted glee while pressing the button down._

The remembrance forces her to her knees, the strength of it too powerful for her to bear. She remembers him that way, so utterly wild and energetic that she thought he was willing to lose the lives of 1/3 the world's population. Afterwards, it never occurred to her that maybe he hadn't had it all planned out, that it had still been possible that he just needed to press that button. Pain shoots through the brand on her neck. An acute headache begins to build at the front of her skull.

Luckily, she doesn't have much time to think about the impact of Romana's words as the Doctor comes and lifts her from the ground.

"Are you alright?" he asks, the regard in his voice enough to push the memory deep down within her with all her other demons and unwanted realities. She has no room to make judgments there; she's killed her fair share in her day.

"Look." She shows him, her eyes turning back to the words on the view screen. She sees him turn to read it as he lets her arms go and wraps them around her in an encompassing hug.

"Romana, someone is using the Ouroboros as a guise to get closer to us."

"Tell me, what did the Ouroboros look like when you met them?" He whispers to her.

"Like giant reptilian people?"

"The Ouroboros are beautiful creatures, almost angelic looking. Unless the highway to Earth was a rather rugged one, there should be no reason they looked like reptiles unless they were fakes."

"Well, it seemed to make sense to me. Ouroboros on Earth are symbolized by paradoxical infinite snakes who eat their own tail." She pulls back for a moment so she can meet his gaze while she explains. "I wasn't going to ask for any I.D! Usually, that's not the first thing I think about when I meet new aliens. 'nice to meet you. Can you show me some picture identification, so I know that you are telling the truth about what type of alien you are?' It wasn't like I had much to go on!"

"You're right, I'm sorry." He sighs, holding her closer. She lets herself be swallowed into their embrace. As she leans against him for comfort, it hits her, the drowning sense of wonder and knowledge that she knows she has to share.

"Doctor, when did the TARDIS start translating the words on the data screen?"

"It's not. You're reading Gallifreyan."

The shock of the news strikes her, throwing her head into a spiral, but just like the wave of understanding that came before, another more violent thought enters her head and stops her heart.

"Oh god, where's Peter?"

~***~

* * *

Martha watches helplessly as Rose and the Doctor pass her out the corridor as she gets out of her seat and ensues after them. She can hear their frantic steps, Rose's troubled voice as she shrieks his name out desperately. But no answer can be heard.

Quickly, she begins opening doors to check inside rooms, just as the Doctor does with Rose running ahead of them. She turns back to see if anyone's followed to help and watches as Jack and Fren begin to look with them for the missing boy.

"Where was he last?" Jack asks the Doctor, Fren coming up beside Martha to calm her own worry.

"My quarters." Romana chimes in behind them, her stance one of distress.

"When I checked in on him earlier, he said he was going to my room to sleep," Rose interjects.

Members of the party follow the frantic Rose down the hall.

They all are yelling for Peter. Martha follows Rose and the Doctor, her heart racing. They make it to the door, opening it in haste and walking in before she can catch up.

"No!" she hears Rose moan before she can enter the room, the destruction within the walls shocking her. To say the place is demolished would be an understatement. Some books lay scattered everywhere, glass from the desk mirror is broken resting on the floor, and the top of the six-foot-tall bookshelf lying on the ground, and the side legs of Rose's bed are broken. At first, she cannot make out what is going on; she doesn't understand why the Doctor holds Rose back as she thrashes and screams loudly. Martha's brain finally makes sense of the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. They cannot see Peter because underneath the solid bookshelf lying on her bed, a puddle of blood trails from underneath the wood, his arm sticking out gracelessly from beneath.

"Peter!" Rose sobs in a broken and fragile voice, tears streaming down her face as she tries to push the bookshelf.

"Shit." She hears Jack say behind her as he enters the room. He and Fren move to the shelf and begin to help lift it, Martha snapping out of her numbness to help them push it.

"Rose, you need to back up and calm down." The Doctor asks, his voice is tight and laden with grief as he continues to hold back the flailing and angry Rose. Martha looks back and sees that Rose's eyes are glowing amber. She is about to say something when she locks eyes with the Doctor. He shakes his head no to her.

"Romana, can you get my sonic screwdriver out of my left pocket!"

Romana does so, turning the dial and turning the screwdriver on and pointing it at Peter's head, slowly working her way down his body.

"Alive. Hairline fractures to the scapula, shattered clavicle, three broken ribs on right-hand side. Fractures to the pelvis, spiral fracture to his tibia and his fibula is shattered. Dislocated arm, severe bruising and some internal bleeding, but nothing Martha and Fren can't fix if we get him to the medical bay."

"What about his head?" Martha orders, her stomach turning in knots at the sight of the crushed boy.

"Some head trauma, but nothing that looks too serious. I won't be able to find out until we get him some medical attention and fast." She lifts herself from the floor as the Doctor loses his battle with Rose and lets her go. Quickly, she's on the floor, stroking the boy's blood-spattered hair and whispering quiet words. Her eyes no longer glowing.

"Peter, honey, I can fix it. Just tell me if I need to go back to fix it." Rose is murmuring.

Martha watches as Romana hands back the screwdriver to the Doctor.

"The sooner we move his body, the better the chances are."

"—father is going murder me. She got you, didn't she? As simple as being too busy."

The Doctor breathes a heavy sigh before bending down.

"Rose?" he queries, placing a hand on her back in a soothing fashion. Rose looks back to him, fury in her eyes, something that Martha has never seen before.

"Don't _touch_ me!" she spits at him unblinking, tears running into the crevices of her mouth. "Don't come near me!"

"Rose, we have to move him to the medical bay—"

"He is my life! I have raised him since he was an infant. I spend one day with you, and I forget?! I'm supposed to protect him from the Wolf!"

"Rose."

Martha can hear the guilt in his voice. Rose refuses to have any of it; in moments, she charges at him with her fists, cursing his name as she pummels his chest. He lets her, trying to reach out, hold her close, crush her against him, and tell her that everything will be okay.

"I hate you! Do you hear me? You hurt him! I hate you!"

Martha looks away, ashamed to watch the scene play out as she cries silently. She feels a hand rub her shoulder, massaging it gently, and she looks back to see Fren standing behind her, weary despair marks her features. Fren pulls Martha into a gentle embrace. Her blonde locks fall over her face for a few moments before letting Martha go to help Jack carry the broken Peter down the hall.

Martha then turns to Romana, "You already started first aid with Peter. You also understand Time Lord physiology better than I do. Can you handle this?"

"Of course," Romana tells her before looking towards the two on the floor. Sighing heavily, she clenches her fists and walks away.

Martha watches as she leaves down the corridor before turning back to the two behind her.

"Rose? Breathe." the Doctor tells her cautiously, his arms holding her tightly as she hyperventilates in his arms.

"They say that the good are always the ones to die young. Maybe that's why they called me the Bad Wolf." Rose giggles, her voice taking on a strangely light tone.

"Now now, dearie, don't be upset, the boy will be fine, you heard the noble and valiant Doctor.  
He's not valiant we are, remember?  
 _The valiant child._  
That's just like you, isn't it, always interrupting.  
 _Oh, I do apologize; go on, say what needs to be said._  
I was saying that the Doctor can fix him; he is a Doctor after all.  
 _Ah, yes, but so is the Rose child_ —"

"Rose?" he demands, concerned, one hand reaching up to cup the back of her head as he rocks her back and forth on the floor.

"Rose petals!  
My mouth's bleeding!  
Zuzu's petals!  
Great, now she sounds autistic.  
I'm trying to keep track!  
 _You both yell too much_.  
It's too hot in here." Rose says, trying to pull away from him and peel off her shirt. Her skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat; her skin is paled. 

"Doctor," Martha says in a firm and warning tone.

"You can't do anything right,

 _You had one job_ ,   
And you failed at that. What would your father think?  
Daddy's gone now, left with mum; you can't use them against me anymore."

"DOCTOR!" Martha shouts again, getting his attention this time.

"What?!" he asks her, frustrated, as he tries to calm Rose and keep her clothes on.

"You need to lock Rose in a room."

The words cause him to shoot an accusatory stare at Martha; the anger and disbelief are overpowering.

"She just needs to calm down. She's in sho—"

"She's lost it. At least for now, and she's a danger to not only others but herself." Martha cuts in, trying to stand her ground. "Look, I understand your connection to her and her despair, but we don't have time. Before she asked about Peter—"

"PETER! PETER NO!" Rose starts screaming, thrashing against him and the floor while the Doctor tries to calm her. But the more he tries, the more she flails.

"We need to think of a solution if you're not going to let Romana use Rose."

"I never said I wasn't going to let her. Ultimately it's Rose's choice. I merely said that if there was any other way, I'd like to find it."

Martha watching in horror, has Rose sinks deeper and deeper into whatever spell she's under. Suddenly, she stops moving, her breathing returns to hyperventilation before she starts having a seizure.

"Shit!" Martha exclaims, trying to move the glass out of the way of her body. "Don't try to restrain her!"

He moves swiftly, moving things out of the way of the jerking Rose lying on the floor. The seizure only lasts a few minutes before ceasing, and Rose opens her eyes to look at them all.

"What happened?" she asks, as the Doctor leans over her, holding her hand and stroking her hair.

"You'll be okay, Rose, let me take you somewhere comfortable."

~***~

* * *

As the Doctor enters the Medical Bay, Jack and Fren look up at him.

"Where's Martha?" Fren asks him, and with just those two words, the Doctor senses warmth for Martha emanating from her.

"Where's Rose?" Romana inquires; he turns to see her standing behind him.

"Martha is seeing to Rose." He shakily sighs, too tired to hide behind an impenetrable exterior. The foundations of his beliefs have been shaken too many times in the last week, and he's almost ready to just throw in the towel. He and Jack exchange glances

"How is he?" The Doctor asks Fren, who is still cleaning the blood away from his head. The Doctor walks over to the boy, scratched and bruised, his body broken.

"No cranial fractures, but he has lacerations from the glass, that's why so much blood. Nothing too deep. I suggested using nanogenes, but Jack told me to wait for you." Fren says, a weary look in her hazel eyes. 

"Certainly, when used correctly." The Doctor says, moving to a cupboard and opening a canister. The glowing orbs circle around him, then move to the quiet body resting only a few feet away. Entering his nostrils and mouth, they surround him and set him aglow. Once finished, Peter looks dramatically better, and the nanogenes return to their canister before the Doctor returns the lid.

"After all this time, you had nanogenes all along?"

"I only ever used them in extreme circumstances."

Jack just shakes his head and walks away. The Doctor looks down at Peter, pulling out his spectacles and asks Romana for his sonic screwdriver. Placing the specs on, he begins a scan of Peter's skull.

"There is some head trauma, but it looks like no severe brain damage. Has he woken yet?"

"No," Jack tells him, "But he won't wake up."

"Well, that just won't do." The Doctor murmurs. "After all, who is apparently going to save the world from all its evils if our prophetic child doesn't wake?"

"Well, I guess we'll have too," Fren says solemnly. All four nod, a silent promise to each other.

~***~

* * *

_She is on the prowl, tracking as she tears through the thicket. Hunger distorts her every thought; the need to sate herself overcomes every whim. Slowly the fog begins to lift above her, the wood her camouflage as she makes her way to the path._

_A child's laughter can be heard along the trail, her merry skipping beckoning the beast closer and closer._

_She hunches down, waiting as she sees Claire, a doll in her hand with eyes glowing amber._

_"Something wicked this way comes."_

Rose's eyes flutter open at the glaring light above them, only to see the Doctor sitting beside her in bed watching her sleep. Slowly she groans, putting a hand up, so her eyes adjust.

"Hello," her voice hoarse and spent from the previous abuse.

"Hello," he repeats, softy pushing arranging her hair on the pillow and stroking her cheek. She looks around to see she's lying in their room, the one they had shared earlier.

Slowly she tries to remember how she got here, what had possibly lead her to pass out.

"Peter!" she says, trying to sit up. The Doctor placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back into the bed, something she would have fought if her head wasn't screaming at her.

"Rest, he's going to be fine. You need to worry about yourself right now. You gave us a bit of a scare back there."

"No, I need to go."

"Rose, it— it isn't a choice, and if it was, it wouldn't be mine. This has been what has been decided by the _others_."

She remembers the agony, the complete loss she felt seeing Peter laying there unmoving. She remembers the rage she felt to the man in front of her, how she tried to hurt him, push him away. How she said hateful and spiteful things to him, she remembers all of this, and how he still stood by her, how he held her and stroked her hair. How he hadn't let her push him away, nor does he want her confined, but after she felt the power course through her, she thinks it may be in everyone's best interest if he locks the door when he leaves.

"I'm so—"

 **Don't say it.** The Doctor tells her; his mouth never moves to form the words but instead allows their connection to be how she receives this message. So she doesn't say it. Rose just lays there, letting the Doctor stroke her hair, holding her hand still. They both know they both understand they don't have much time left.

"I'm going out on a limb here, but I have to tell you," he says to her, "I have no plan for this."

"S'okay, not been the first time." She murmurs, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He leans into the contact for the briefest of seconds before pulling away. She can see in his eyes he's still not ready to share that kind of affection between them yet, and it hurts to know that maybe their union may have never happened if she hadn't driven him beyond that point of insanity. 

"Rose. The last time something like this happened, I had a plan. You were supposed to be happy and safe. Look how well that went." He says, unable to meet her eye as she drops her hand, and he turns away from her. She waits with bated breath to hear his voice. The sound she still hasn't gotten used to hearing after all these years.

"I'm terrified."

She smiles and places her hand in his lap, palm up in expectancy.

"Don't be." She wraps his long fingers through her own, holding her tightly, "we'll figure it out. This isn't the end yet."

She sees him nod, although he still doesn't meet her gaze. An awkward silence passes between them, as she knows he does not want her to see this facet of him, does not want her to know he can falter and sees the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"You're getting worse." He tells her, and the words just fill up the emptiness between them. He's telling her things she already knows. She is already aware of how bad off she is. She can feel both of them fighting for her body, their will and desire washing over her in waves of frustration and energy.

"We can't always get what we want. I feel them. They're with me all the time now. They both bring me peace. We all want the same thing for nothing to hurt the ones we love."

The Time Lord looks at her, a strange and curious stare in his eyes, and she sees that he managed to wipe the tears away before looking back towards her.

"Maybe Romana's plan is all we have." She hints to him.

"I don't want to believe that."

"Have you ever asked?"

But she already knows the answer to the question, and the answer is no. No, the Doctor hasn't because, as he's already told her, he's terrified. She shakes her head with a touch of disappointment, her eyes finding their way back around the room.

"Maybe it's not your choice anymore. Maybe it's mine." She tells him, trying once more to lift her body from the bed, "After all, being imprisoned in our bedroom isn't the top of my list of things I wanted to do."

He has the decency to chuckle, a small hollow one at best, and they both lean back against the wall that the bed is pressed up against.

"I don't want to lose you again." He sighs, the defeat and self-pity in his voice overcome her, and she finds herself already irritated with him.

"Well, either way, you're pretty much hooped. If you don't give Romana and me a chance, then you'll lose me anyways."

"I know." He says calmly, taking her hand once more and stroking the back of it with his thumb. "I know, I just. I just want everything to work out."

She turns her head to meet his eyes and looks into him, past those brown orbs that reflect years and worlds and lives long past. She looks into his heart and soul into his mind and makes a connection with him that he voluntarily allows her to do. For a few moments, they sit that way, sharing their love for each other, thoughts and feelings, worries, and regrets. Pasts and futures.

 _Can I tell you a part of my favourite poem?_ She asks him.

**_What's that?_ **

_But we by a love so much refined,_   
_That ourselves know not what it is,_   
_Inter-assurèd of the mind,_   
_Careless, eyes, lips and hands to miss._   
_Our two souls, therefore, which are one,_   
_Though I must go, endure not yet_   
_A breach, but an expansion,_   
_Like gold to aery thinness beat._

**_John Donne_ **

_John Donne, and do you know why I love him as a poet so much?_

**_Because he was a pervy bastard who married a young girl less than half his age, and you get your kicks from older men?_ **

_Even in your head, you have to ruin moments, don't you?_

**_What can I say? I have an exceptional talent._ **

_I love John Donne because he understood the sanctity of letting things happen the way they have to. Even if it meant that he and his love could not have their ideal life together 100 percent of the time. And he knew that even if he couldn't, it didn't mean they didn't love each other any less._

**_I think you're trying to teach me something… I think I may actually understand… no wait, I lost it._ **

_Alright, if that's how you're going to be._

**_No stop, wait, I'll be good, I promise._ **

_You sure find odd ways of dealing with it for someone who's so terrified of losing me._

**_It's a defence mechanism; what can I say?_ **

_Say that you understand, say that you know that I'm going to love you no matter what._

**_I understand, no matter what._ **

_Say that you love me._

**_You already know that._ **

_Then it shouldn't be that hard to say._

"I love you."

_"It's important to understand that even though your love language is actions, there is a wide spectrum of people out there who need more verbal communication. I'm not doing this to you for my benefit. I fell for you when you were the least communicative Grumplestilkskin I had ever met. These moments we get together, I hope they will satiate you until you find it within yourself to let others in."_

"Now what?" He asks her, his voice is more exhausted than his mind.

And with that, she leans in closer, her hand finding his cheeks that press further into her palms. He dips his head to the side to welcome her lips, but the moment is lost. The TARDIS jerks and spasms, having them smash their heads against each other painfully.

"What?!" He says aloud, annoyed. Rose looks at him curiously, and he points to his head and rolls his eyes. Romana, he mouths to her before she sighs and closes her eyes.

He's right. She's getting worse, Rose feels like she could sleep, and it would be never enough. A deep chasm of pain inside her head and chest builds into a cacophony that she doesn't know how much longer she can hide.

"That doesn't make sense. You said yourself she's running on next to no power that we were in stasis till we could do more repair work."

It seems like even though he's right here, that she's tasted the salt of his skin, that she can feel his hand in hers, she wonders if she's still in a dream. She keeps trying to wake up, but the Wolf is begging to be released from its cage, and she isn't able to meet it in the middle.

"Why, where are we landing?" he asks with a most certain dread.

She continues to reflect on what she can grasp. What is happening, what she knows. But she keeps trying to think about William, and she can't remember what his wife's name was, and why wasn't he here for the boy. He was supposed to be here for this part.

"Rose? Things may just have gotten worse."

~***~

* * *

The space is eerily silent, a calm that disturbs the Doctor to his core.

It has been over two years since he has been in this room, over 720 days since his world changed, before his fall further into self-loathing, before his chance meeting with Martha.

Before it all.

The tranquil quiet within the TARDIS walls echoes the stillness outside of its confines and down the long Torchwood floor, the ever-looming white wall stretches out in front of them.

"Jack?" His weary tone hints at his own dread. To end up here means that there is something that he still has not been able to place his finger on. It's enough to drive him insane. Before, it seemed more like an annoying itch. Not this time, now it's become personal. The screen's ghostly blue whispers doubt in his ear; still, he cannot pull his gaze away from the console's monitor. "What is the meaning of this?"

He hears Jack walk up behind him, his steps rumbling around them as he makes his way to the display. Now they are both staring at the image, and it solves nothing. Not that the Doctor really believed that he would, but he had been hoping Jack had all the answers, praying in his own way that maybe someone could explain what was going on here. Instead, both men now stand confused before their judgment.

"We're at Torchwood One! But… it can't be. Torchwood One was destroyed in battle. I've seen the pictures."

"It wasn't destroyed in battle," the Doctor whispers, "For a day and a half, it stood silent without any disturbance while people reunited with their families in the streets of London. All mourning the loss of those who fell."

_His places his palms against the cold surface, feeling the warmth the void left behind in its wake, the small ember of heat still left in this world as all feeling and sensibility slowly seeps out of his long fingers and into the now-closed abyss; a barrier that she was now lost to the other side of. But it's not just a wall; it's a metaphor; it's an abstract representation of the distance between them._

_She isn't waiting on the other side of a wall, no matter how hard he presses his cold body against the indifferent surface. There is no loose connection to bring her back to him, even if he does wait five and a half hours for her. She's on the other side of the void. She's gone from his universe, HER universe. As his fingers slip slowly down the wall, in a final and undeserved caress, he realizes he's finally lost her, not to the moment, not to a monster or a devil or gods. He lost her to time and space, to things that are cruel and unchangeable._

_He's lost her, and he cannot feel his feet' movement over the shock that runs through his entire being._

_He doesn't look back as he shuffles his feet away. He can't bear it. Correction: Has always had the spare, but maybe this time, perhaps just this once, it won't be enough._

_She's gone._

_And it's all his fault._

_He makes his way down to where they tied up the TARDIS, holding it in place with chains and magnaclamps. As he makes his way to his ship, he feels the air in his lungs become harder to swallow, the scorching heat of the tears falling down his cheeks, his limbs too heavy to wipe them away. He has to make it to the TARDIS; he has to make it to his turtle shell to curl up into a little ball away from the world, away from this industrialized hell. Why did he ever come to Earth anyway? It's a boring small planet with nothing but stupid apes who think they are always right—ignorant, pathetic, ungrateful fools. But sometimes, you meet one who makes you think that maybe there is more to them than just chips and tellie._

_That life is better with two._

_His body continues to struggle on autopilot as he unhooks the clamps that protected his ship from the void. As he opens the doors, he doesn't make it more than two steps up the ramp before crumpling to the floor._

_Where he stays for two days._

"I don't know why we're here." Jack scratches his head and then crosses his arms over his chest. "Could be a transdimensional shift, something pulling us back to safety."

"No," Romana pipes up. "No, not safety. Something worse."

All three look between each other, exchanging glances of weariness and worry. "Well, Romana, penny for your thoughts?"

"I'm more interested in hearing more of yours," she inquires, her stare piercing. The Doctor nods, his own thoughts leaning more towards a horrifying case of the terrible. If they have been pulled back to this place, there is more meaning to this particular room than he's willing to admit. Someone's toying with him now. Whatever is controlling his fate is trying to make it evident that he isn't in control. At first, he had just thought someone had been tampering with his memories, but now he's sure.

"If we've been pulled back, and it is the exact same room that it appears to be, then it has to be within forty-eight hours of me losing Rose." He tells her his own intensity is overwhelming.

"What makes you figure?" Jack asks.

"Torchwood Tower was brimming full of workers, busy bees— they were trying to keep the ghost shift on the up and up. Now it stands vacant, so I'm assuming it can't be before."

"And it can't be after." A familiar voice calls out, causing the three onlookers to turn around. Martha stands at the entrance to the console room, her face set in a determined furrow. He smiles at the sight of her, genuine and small, as she slowly walks towards the trio.

"It can't be after because after the damage of the top floor was assessed, they renovated the building. Laboratories line that back wall there," Martha tells them, pointing on the screen into the background. For the first time since she's entered the room, she looks up at him, a hesitant look on her face as she does so. "At least they did before another explosion took out a great deal of this floor."

"And how would you know?" Romana asks curiously.

"Because," The Doctor exhales, his voice barely audible as he answers for his companion, "Martha used to work here."

~***~

* * *

_She sits there, perched in her tower, brushing the length of her hair dressed in leather and lace. She knows she has to finish the story, to continue, but the pages lay at her desk, daunting and bare. Her prison's shape is suspiciously shaped like a terrarium, a vast forest of woods for her to explore. The tree swing that she can perch her feet upon and sit for hours on end._

" _Rose, Rose, you have to go on…" Peter's voice whispers to her, it's aerie and light, reminding her of youthful fantasies._

_Annoyed, she shakes it off, continuing to admire her reflection in the looking glass. Not half bad for a senior citizen. But she wants to be nineteen again to live in the world where reality and fantasy brink over, be young enough to still believe, but old enough to be saved by the prince and taken far away._

" _Rose, you can't ignore it forever."_

" _I could if you would just go away and leave me be."_

" _It doesn't work that way, and we both know it."_

_"I'm waiting!" she bites out as she slams the brush down on the vanity before glancing up at her reflection in the mirror. She can see Peter standing behind her, his hands in his pockets, a slight tilt to his jaw, and reminds her of him, the one she loves to hate and hates to love._

" _And just what exactly are you waiting for?"_

_"I'm waiting for him to come to rescue me."_

_Peter, her favourite boy, just laughs at her, merriment filling those blue eyes. Rose narrows her eyes at the image of him in her mirror. Irritated, she stands in front of his view, so she doesn't have to see him._

" _We both know Rose that that's not going to happen."_

_A tremor runs through her as she picks up the brush and tries to continue with her chore. At least a hundred strokes, dearie, or it won't be as fine as silk._

" _Whether you wait or not, what is destined to happen will happen. It's only a matter of time. It's up to you to get there."_

_"I've lost my touch. I can't remember how the story ends." Rose murmurs, tilting her head to the side to watch him again, but he punishes her now by disappearing._

_She gets so lonely up here some days, she forgets to use her manners._

_"I'm sorry my sweet, come back and sing to me." She frantically moves about her head searching for him; he appears sitting on her swing, a touch of him showing on the other side of her face._

_"You're lying. Not even to me, but yourself. We both know how the story ends."_

_She stares at the boy on the surface. "I do know the ending, I just don't know how to get there, I don't know how to map the road from point A to point B. I don't know how to write it, so it makes sense."_

_He laughs at her, merriment in his voice. Chills run along her spine, the looking glass breaking in front of her. A wolf replaces Peter. He does not look at all like her Wolf. He's silver and black, his eyes glowing red._

" _Now look what you did." She mutters, afraid to reach out and touch the jagged fractures._

" _I think it's a little late to worry about it making sense at this point. Everyone's waiting for the ending." He tells her, his voice is still Peters._

_She can't see him anymore. All that is reflected are distorted and ugly versions of her, three in total. Frustrated, she turns to look behind her, to invite him to sit with her for tea while waiting for her prince to come, but he is no longer there._

" _Something wicked this way comes."_

Gasping and clawing at life, she sits up in her bed. Perspiration pours in rivets down her spin and forehead, knowledge setting her aglow.

She knows now what she must do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting close the end, thanks for joining me on this journey!


	25. Déjà Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate Chapter;
> 
> WARNING FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE. 
> 
> Rose saves everyone. Or does she?

“Here they come!” Jack warns, his eyes never leaving the TARDIS screen’s blue glow. Romana and Martha look up from what they’re doing, wires and metal in hand, as the Doctor continues to work frantically into the night, the screwdriver in his mouth, his specs falling down his nose. Both women drop what they’re doing to run and watch the wall open on the screen, a Glarecox ship crossing through the other side.

“Doctor, you may want to come see this,” Jack cries out, tinges of hesitance and worry outlined in his voice.

“A little busy!”

Martha looks over to see what Jack sees as the wall behind shimmers and shakes on the small screen before solidifying until all that’s left is a crack leaking space-time. The ship sits motionless in the middle of the room. The hum of its engines can be heard from inside the TARDIS. All occupants stand in relative silence; even the TARDIS keeps still.

All but the Doctor.

“Will you be quiet?!” Martha hisses as she turns back to him.

“Look, I am TRYING to get our power systems back online and running so that maybe, just maybe we’ll be able to deal with that. Until then, you can all either help or bloody well leave me be!” He snaps, briefly looking up from work in his hands.

“But the Glarecox—”

“The assembled hoards of Genghis Khan couldn’t get through that door, and believe me, they’ve tried. Now, shut up a minute,” he quips before yelling out in frustration and throwing what he has in his hands down on the ground in exasperation. She makes her way with caution over to where he kneels, his head in his hands, his body racked with heavy breaths.

“What’s wrong? Besides the obvious.” Martha asks, placing her hand on his shoulder and kneeling beside him.

“It’s déjà vu. It’s always déjà vu. And if it’s not, it’s someone toying with me. Things keep happening Martha, I keep revisiting the same moments, the same words. A loop. This is becoming almost Sisyphean. I keep almost realizing something before it drifts off and out of my reach. It’s driving me past the breaking point.”

She regards him with an intense but empathetic gaze, her arm slipping around his shoulder and her own head resting against his.

“There, there. Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll all die nobly before that happens.”

He looks up at her, an exacerbated look etched into his face, and she smiles at him, long and slow. Martha had missed these moments with him when it was just themselves they had to worry about and not a crew of shipmates. She has begun to love the friends she has made within the last few weeks, but she will always relish her time with him the most.

It would be easier if they went out in a blaze of glory alone. Martha can’t stand the thought of others dying. She’s sure that’s why the Doctor likes to keep most at arm’s length.

As if on cue, a colossal shaking reverberates through the TARDIS doors, prompting Martha and the Doctor to look up.

“They have a battering ram,” Jack states, turning towards them. He wears a doubtful expression.

“No worries.”

BAM! Another rumble causes the doors to quake.

“It’s not your average battering ram.” He tilts his head slightly, crossing his arms as he looks down at the monitor in front of him.

“What defines an average battering ram these days?”

“Ones that do not have a temporal shifting device attached to them,” Romana informs him. The Doctor drops the sonic screwdriver from his hands and runs to the screen.

“What is a temporal shifting device?” Martha asks, encroaching him.

“The reason why the TARDIS or any time travel ship have defences is that they essentially use the ability to travel through time to alter time and the offensive ship’s ability to aim at them. Without that ability to manipulate time, most ships would be defenceless at best.” Romana explains.

“For instance, one time, the Doctor and I were coming head-on in a Dalek attack and were shot at with two missiles, and the TARDIS came out completely unscathed. But, if the Daleks had been using a temporal time shifter, the TARDIS would not have been able to dodge the missiles.”

“But what does that mean? Doctor?” Martha queries with more alarm.

THUD.

He stands there, never lifting his gaze from the display screen. Martha glances down and watches as Glarecox soldiers pound against his door with the giant steel pole. A Glarecox General stands behind them; another alien with a scaley body, dressed in robes, stands beside him. He turns then, swiftly and almost knocks her down. Before she can lose her balance, his hands are wrapped around her shoulders, pressing his fingers in tightly.

“It means you run,” He tells her, looking deep into her eyes, his own holding a fear that she has never seen from him before. “You run, and you hide deep somewhere inside of the TARDIS. The passages are endless. You’ll have no trouble finding a place.”

He looks up and around at the others in the room. Romana and Jack.

“All of you, someone needs to go find Anais, where ever he is. Someone else needs to go move Peter, and the other needs to go help, Rose. All of you go. Now.”

“Are you out of your mind? There is no way I’m leaving you here to fight off that!” Jack exclaims, pointing towards the door.

“I won’t leave you, not alone. We go down fighting together.” Martha tells him.

“Agreed. I understand your desire to protect Doctor, but this is hardly the time to try and manipulate a plan by yourse—”

“ENOUGH!” He interrupts, catching her off guard. All are silent as he looks around at them.

THUD.

“This is my ship and these are my rules and quite frankly, I’m tired of pretending this is a democracy. If those soldiers come through the door, we are in a pile of trouble, and that’s only when they get through the door. We have other people on this ship to protect and more things to worry about. If you go hide, at least I know you’re safe, and maybe I can convince them I’m alone. Romana, you’ll have time to work with Rose. If you stay here, then… then I can’t promise any of us will be safe. I mean, honestly Romana, have you not felt the interference? Tell me you foresee this outcome?”

Romana stands with her chin held high, her lack of a response speaking volumes in itself.

“But what about you?” Martha asks him, her own voice breaking as tears well into her eyes. “What happens to you when they knock down the door?”

“I allow them to surrender.”

She half laughs, the tears spilling over at his silliness as she shakes her head at him.

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then, I fight them with my emphatic charm.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

THUD. BAM.

“Then I die,” he tells her nonchalantly. “It’s not so bad. Besides, you forget, I have more regenerations. Which is more than I can say for you.”

She shakes her head, a half sob caught in her throat as he pulls her into a firm embrace.

“That may be true about Martha, Doctor, but you forget my predicament,” Jack says, his feet apart, his arms crossed.

“Yes, right, we all know you’re immortal, Jack no need to be a show-off.” The Doctor murmurs rolling his eyes, and Martha giggles before smacking his shoulder.

“What was that for?!”

“Just because we are all about to die does not give you the right to act like a git!”

“I’m not leaving you here alone, Doctor,” Jack tells him, still standing his ground.

**THUD. BAM.**

“So you’re immortal, great Jack. You won’t die. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe that would be worse? That I don’t want you to stay because the thought of you unable to die at their hands makes me sick to my stomach?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Rose calls from the corridor.

* * *

~***~

All eyes turn to Rose as she stands there, a bag on her back and a rather large weapon in her hand. She can see the surprise in their eyes, feel the fear and anger that has been occupying this room as the TARDIS doors continue to be hammered upon.

“You have a de-mat gun on this ship?!” Romana asks the Doctor in awe and fury.

“Well, it’s hardly any use without the Great Key, now is it?” he quips, pulling away from Martha and walking over to Rose. She stands there waiting for the Doctor to approach, reprimand her for escaping her confinement. Rose remains for him to send her away, just like has done so many times in the past, or now fear her like a monster, like so many else have before him.

“How did you get out of the room?” he asks as he takes the de-mat gun from her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The side of Rose’s mouth curls up, not that different from her wolf counterpart. She pulls the bag from her back and kneels on the ground to empty it.

**BAM.**

“It’s Nitro nine. I can use this for shock value,” he nods towards the de-mat gun in his hand, kneeling beside her to help unload the canisters, “Then really scare them off with that.”

“I think you missed the point of my impressive entrance.”

Clearly, he doesn’t want her help, and Rose is willing to concede to this wish because she knows she will not acquiesce to his others. He hesitates momentarily before continuing to unload canister after unmarked canister.

He doesn’t even have the decency to look up at her.

“I’m not having you stay behind only to get captured and tortured. I don’t have what it takes to tell Peter what happened when he wakes up, and you’re gone.”

“That was a _low_ blow, considering I do this for Peter.” She mutters, watching intently as he continues to unload the backpack and look for other items. There are a rope and a knife in the bag as well, both items he deems useless before continuing. It takes a second, but he looks up at her from his position on the floor, his spectacles still falling off his nose’s edge. Slowly he removes them and places the glasses back in his pocket.

“Whatever it takes to convince you, it’s not your duty to stay beside me.”

“Do you ever listen to anyone else around you, or do you just ramble on to hear yourself speak?” She retorts before walking away and approaching Romana and Jack.

“I’m ready. I know what I must do now.” She tells the older female. Romana stares at her with a mixture of determination and authority before nodding her head in one quick, curt motion. Romana paces away from her, taking Martha by the arm.

**THUD.**

“As much as I wish to deny it, the Doctor is right, it would be more beneficial to everyone if less of us were on the frontline, and more were hidden. Given Rose and Jack’s circumstances, I think it is best if you and I search for Anais, as well as warn Fren and move Peter to safety.”

Martha looks back at Rose and Jack before nodding to Romana. Slowly she walks over to Rose and Jack, standing side-by-side to say her goodbyes.

“Be safe.” She whispers, taking Rose in her arms and holding her tightly.

“I was about to say the same to you,” Rose whispers. “Peter’s vitals had stabilized when I checked on him, please... if I—”

“Of course.” Martha says, leaning away, “Always, and forever.”

Martha looks up to meet Jack’s piercing blue eyes.

“Come here sweetheart,” he says, taking her by the hand and embracing her.

Martha pulls back and gazes at Jack before walking over to the Doctor, who still stands rather nonchalant by the corridor. They face each other for a few moments before she takes his hand in hers.

“The greatest adventure you’ll ever have.” She murmurs, tracing patterns on the back of it with her thumb. She’s unable to meet his eyes instead of focusing on his chest as the tears continue to fall.

“Martha, I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry.”

“For what? For showing me how everything I could have ever dreamed of and more? Come on now, you’re starting to sound like this is the end.”

“I don’t know if it is or not Martha, I’ve never felt this way before, but it also feels like I always have.”

“Exactly. You never really know if it’s the end or not, and that’s the price we pay for the life we lead.” They stand still for a few moments before lifting her gaze to meet his.

“You know, just because I’m not in love with you doesn’t mean I don’t _love_ you. And I suppose if this is the last time I see you as you, I wanted you to know that. That you’re the best mate, I could have ever had.”

He looks into her, past her chocolate brown eyes and silken thread that connects their minds. He feels her love for him, a soft downy blanket warm and pliable, brilliant and bold, like static electricity along with the fabric on a dark night.

“I know.” He tells her, smiling, “You know that even though I don’t say it, I feel exactly the same way.”

She nods, moving in to hug him. They hold each other for what seems like forever, and still, it’s not enough as they pull away, the banging on the door increasing in a fury.

**THUD. BAM.**

“Sometimes, the words unsaid… mean more than the ones we do.” She whispers in his ear before pulling away and moving down the corridor, wiping her eyes.

“Right. Well, I best be off as well.” Romana chimes in before looking back at Rose, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Rose nods, never once looking up at the Doctor. Rose knows that this will annoy and maybe even anger him, but she doesn’t care. She’s tired of being the writer of this fairytale, tired of the plot twists she’s required to make. At this point, she’s ready to finish, and she knows that’s a sign to wrap it all up. If that means she may die, she is fully aware of the consequences. She is ready for the next stage.

_Make sure he doesn’t abandon Peter. Or Martha._

**_I will, I promise._ **

Romana replies, both using shields to block him out of their private mental conversation.

Rose regards him tenderly as he gazes at her with an inscrutable look.

 _Not that I think he would, it’s just that_ — _well, he hasn’t been himself lately. Even he knows that. It’s going to be hard for him._

Romana nods and begins her exit from the console room.

Rose watches Romana pass the Doctor; their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds before both look away. If time could speak, which she knows it can, but if she were willing to tell a good story, she would love to know how deep Romana’s and the Doctor’s roots ran. But time is a funny thing, and she knows she has little left, little left to worry about what is going on in others’ lives.

Right now, she has two to save.

“Right, if you’re forcing me to keep you, I might as well teach you how to use this.”

“For the very last time, my love, I’m not here to stay with you. I’m here to fix something I should have a long time ago.”

He tilts his head at her, a pout forming on his usually happy lips. She can sense his curiosity and disappointment.

It’s a shame she doesn’t really care right now.

She turns to Jack beside her and takes his hands. They’re old and worn down just like her own, and it makes her shudder to touch them, to feel the power pulsating between the two of them, the power of immortality that they both share with respect and hate.

“It’s time to do what I should have done a long time ago, and that’s let go.”

Jack looks at her with eyes of blue. They **do not** fill with understanding or curiosity. They do not shine with knowledge or doubt. Those eyes stare vacantly with a neutrality that she connects with as much as it breaks her heart. She sees herself in the reflection of them and wonders how many deaths have been reflected in his eyes’ darkest shadows. How many sorrows and losses have occurred, how many times he tried to die and wasn’t granted the ability.

“Just what do you plan on doing?” the Doctor asks, discomfort faintly hidden in his voice’s most remote regions.

“I’m going to open the heart of the TARDIS.”

He lets the information and words that have just left her mouth sit for a moment before realizing just what she has said.

“What?” he asks, and he feels like a bit of a git for having to resort to crude and completely baffling behaviour.

But she doesn’t repeat herself. Instead, the Doctor watches as she stares deeply into Jack, and Jack returns the same powerful gaze. As the Doctor watches the two, he realizes the depths of their connection and just how blessed he’s been to have them both in his life. He knows he’s been hard on Jack in the past, even gone as far as to blatantly tell Jack that he was untrustworthy and not worth his time, but the Doctor knows now that it was never the truth, even in their earliest days. He kept Jack around for more reasons than just because Rose wanted him to stay, but because he cared for Jack.

He watches as Rose lets Jack’s hands go and runs her own against the TARDIS console.

“What are you doing?” The Doctor asks her nervously, watching as she strokes his ship and whispers to her. But Rose ignores him. Instead, she continues to do what he had just observed; Rose rubs the console, susurrating to the ship. The sound of her voice drowned out by the constant pounding against the TARDIS door. Walking over to her, he takes her hands in his own and pulls her away.

“Please don’t do this.” He begs, aware of the fear and desperation in his voice.

“I have to. You have to let go. Jack and I both, we have to let go.” Rose tells him, and he can see the determination set in her hazel orbs. There are no tears, only hope there, and he hopes it’s enough to make him believe. But he’s still so unsure. One reoccurring theme for their little song and dance is that the odds seem to be stacked against them.

“Don’t you think that this is happening all just a little too fast? Like we’re being rushed through all these decisions? What happened to thinking about things before we do them. What about Peter and the prophecy? Weren’t we suppose to find the Box of—”

“Having the Glarecox pounding down your door has a tendency to speed up the decision-making process.” Rose rolls her eyes and smiles sadly at him.

“I don’t think you remember what happened the last time you did this. No good could ever come of this. I think you should try Romana’s idea. We can go back and get her.”

“Doctor,” Rose tells him, letting her hands slip out of his grasp and fall to her sides. She steps into his space and rests her head against his chest. “This **was** Romana’s idea,” He stands there in front of her, and he knows he sounds like Peter, trying to protect her, but it seems his Rose was always meant to protect them. He can’t watch her do this again; he can’t be that helpless once more.

“She talked you into this. There has to be another—”

“Shh…” She places a finger against his lips, and he quiets under the touch. He wants to attempt to brush it away and make a joke to play the show of it down. But he stays frozen against the press against his lips. “It was always my plan too. I just hadn’t gotten there yet.”

She lets her finger fall from his lips and snakes her arms under his own, his tense body swaying in her embrace.

Rose can tell he’s exhausted.

She can relate.

“I’m telling you only because I need you to **_promise_** to stay out of this. I need to know I’m not going to have to take care of you.”

“Take care of me.” He scoffs

“I killed you once. I don’t want to do it again.” She whispers, pressing her lips where her finger had once rested. The kiss is neither deep nor passionate. It’s a union, a calm and respectful joining that he misses as soon as it’s broken.

“Promise me.” Her hands are in his hair, pulling his forehead down against her own.

“But why can’t I? If Jack is going to he—”

“I’m going to sing you a lullaby if you can’t promise me.”

He yawns. What had Rose done to him? Where had all his energy gone? Why is Jack so silent in all of this?

“Please, let’s not pretend I have ever denied you anything that you have ever asked of me?” the Doctor shudders, still swaying. It’s as though he may fall asleep from his heartache and the comfort of her embrace. It almost is enough to keep him in her arms.

“Never,” Rose whispers, “and always.”

The Doctor forces his eyes to open to see Rose walk away from him. She goes back towards the console and continues as she was doing before. Rose takes an agonizingly long time, her focus so acute on her task he starts to feel the energy return to him. He begins to feel almost well enough to try his hand at sussing out plausible futures. The Doctor is about to tell her to stop, that it isn’t going to work. He’s about to say to her that this process is futile when all of a sudden, a bright light hits his eyes, provoking him to stagger back and sink to his knees.

When his eyes finally adjust, she’s brilliant and gold, lit like a phoenix, burning with warmth as though her skin shimmering from somewhere within. He feels the urge to break eye contact and look at Jack, but he simply can’t look away from the sight before him. Her hair flutters behind her lit like a dying star. She is fire and fury, beauty and chaos.

She is terrifying.

She is celestial.

The Doctor gawks as she glides closer to Jack, the reverence on his face, the Doctor, is sure is a replica of his own. He continues to stare as Jack stands his ground as the ethereal Rose reaches out to touch him, to pull Jack to her.

“I’m sorry, _so_ sorry.” She says her voice’s intoning is harmonious and dulcet; the Doctor would assume that she was mocking him if it wasn’t that he felt her words flow through him. Waves of glorious horror wash over him as he understands that he had been mimicking her words, from this moment, during this iteration of him. Jack falls into the embrace, the glow surrounding her engulfing him as she holds him tightly to her body. As they pull back to look into each other’s eyes, Rose has final words.

“This was how it had to be.” He tells her.

“This face,” she murmurs, cupping it in her hands, “If not this, then that’s all that will be left.”

She kisses Jack then, slow and long. The Doctor watches as the glow grows brighter with their union, a union at this moment he feels so familiar with. The radiance that glows in front of him burns in his eyes, but it’s not jealousy that paralyzes him. Slowly the glow exits Jack, and he falls unconscious away from the embrace, Rose impossibly more radiant before him.

“I have finally come to full power. It has been so much and yet so little distance since our last encounter, Doctor.”

He nods, unable to answer in any other way. She smiles, the tears streaming down her face, not unlike their last rendezvous. She bends _unnaturally_ to the floor, moving in a swift crawl towards him, a chill crashes over him, and he fights the urge to shudder.

“I have but one last task to accomplish. I wanted to say goodbye.”

He doesn’t fight whatever **_it is_** in front of him as she licks her teeth. Leaning in towards him, he shudders as she deeply inhales, a guttural growl suppressed in Rose’s throat. She moves to his ear, nipping at the shell of it.

“It really is too bad. I was pleased with your offer for compromise.” She whispers in his ear, seizing the lop in her mouth and sighing in pleasure before pulling back and meeting his eyes. “After all, I was never the one who couldn’t share.”

The Wolf then takes his face in her hands and sweeps her tongue past his lips with vigour. It’s felt like warm honey being poured over their flesh, the kiss tasting of stars. It had been different lips then, other hands that held her face, and it had been a sweet and straightforward connection. But he no longer denies to himself the pleasure he felt, and although it catches him off guard at first, he finds himself with the same intensity, nipping at him and winding his tongue around hers. Her offering is one of power, and it helps him see that Rose will be safe. That she, the Wolf, will save them. The Doctor learns through their joining Rose’s safety has finally been secured and that it had been compromised every time he tried to talk her out of this moment.

She pulls back abruptly. “Our moment is up. I need to pay my debt now.”

“What was I suppose to call you?” he asks her, it had always felt ridiculous to him to call her the Bad Wolf, or just the Wolf, and now that they are not puppets to dreams and recollections, to visions and mystery, he can finally ask.

“Thank you for asking, but for us, it doesn’t work that way to say I had a name, would say I have a place in all of this,” she tells him before leaning in closer, “but if I were to pick my favourite, it was when the firsts chose Lemnu. I think you’ll go there again one day.” And then slowly, Lemnu-with-Rose’s face exhales, the glow dancing around the room, caressing his cheek and lips, circling about the console. Her body shifts and taught muscle, and the unnatural poster of her body change. Her eyes are blank amber before the glow enters her again. It’s just as the last of the energy is breathed out, the Glarecox burst through the door.

And then all he can hear is the General calling for his men to open fire. Sparks and steam releasing everywhere.

* * *

~***~

When he regains consciousness for the first few moments, he can’t remember how he ended up on the floor; all he knows is that they are all in extreme danger. He cautiously opens his eyes to discern what’s going on around him— the yelling and confused unruliness. Upon further investigation, he finds that it’s only been a few minutes since they broke in and hopes they still can overpower the intruders.

He begins reaching for his sonic screwdriver just inches out of his way on the floor before he is picked up his hair. Groaning in pain, he’s forced to his knees, his eyes still blurry as the smoke clears.

“Causalities?” one of his captor’s grunts to his partner.

“One. A human male on the floor.” The other replies.

 ** _Rose…_** He calls out with his mind.

 ** _Rose, are you there?_** But there is no response; he sees her picked up off the floor in the same manner only a few feet away from Jack’s motionless body. She screams in pain, her hands tied behind her back, not unlike his own, as the Glarecox tells her to shut up. When her eyes focus, they finally make contact, but he cannot feel Rose’s thread any longer; he cannot sense her presence.

“Doctor, Doctor, it worked!” she calls out rather euphorically as if she’s completely unaware of the situation going on around her.

“I said shut up!” says a Glarecox soldier, butting the gun’s end against her cheek. He can hear a sickening crunch, teeth being knocked out, blood pouring out of her mouth.

“Human again.” She giggles, the blood running down her chin and onto her shirt, “I fixed Jack and me, and now we’re mortal!”

“He’s dead, Rose.” The Doctor tells her, looking at the lifeless body. Jack’s eyes are focused upwards, pools of blood spreading around him like a Rorschach design. He hears the warrior’s sound behind him, swinging his weapon through the air before it crashes against the back of his head. Pain shoots out like a web centring at the point of contact and spreading like wildfire down his skull. The Doctor watches as Rose tries to turn to look behind her as the Glarecox soldiers continue talking about searching through the ship for other hostages.

She stares for a long moment, the look on her face unreadable before she turns back.

“Are you the Time Lord known as’ The Doctor?” one of their repulsive captors asks.

“I didn’t realize this was capture by invitation.” He hears himself croak out, almost in a catatonic auto-pilot fashion.

“This is him. Kill the human female.” The other soldier orders.

“How do you know she’s a human female, hmm? What if she is this Doctor you are looking for?” He inquires, trying to buy them time.

“Stupidity. We do not have time for this. Kill them both, and if one regenerates, we know they are a Time Lord.”

“Alright, you’ve got me. I do admire your reasoning skills, swift and to the point. Maybe you should give motivational speeches. Truth is I have no idea who you are talking about.”

Both soldiers look at each other before nodding and lifting their weapons to aim and take fire.

“Okay, yes, I am the Doctor.”

The weapons lower for the briefest moments, both soldiers moving to stand around him to pick him up off the floor. Although she bleeds and cries silently on the floor, he watches as both captors nod and goes to pick her up.

As they haul Rose’s body up by her arms, a massive Glarcoxian comes from behind her and grabs her around the head, holding her steady.

“What are you doing? I said I’m the Doctor I’M THE DOCTOR!”

It’s as if his screams fall on deaf ears as Rose’s screams mingling in with the sound of her bones breaking. He watches in horror as her body crumples to the floor lifelessly, her eyes vacant and lost.

“Orders are to bring back the Doctor. Our reward is everyone else.”

He feels his legs give out, both soldiers holding him steady as he vomits onto the console floor. More soldiers enter through his front door, tall and proud of themselves as they approach the two holding him steady.

“Find anyone else on this ship, and kill them.” The leader orders as the Doctor continues to stare in disbelief before him.

Dead.

Both dead.

Jack and Rose. Just like that terrible movie.

For a brief moment, they had been alive, truly mortal again.

Lemnu had made sure of it. He had felt it, the truth.

What had he done?

“This isn’t over, you could have had me come peacefully, humour you even. But now, now you have no idea the can of worms you’ve opened,” the Doct informs them with a lethal calmness. He watches as they look back and forth at each other. “I have nothing left to live for, and that makes me the most dangerous creature in the universe. You should be prepared—”

“We said shut up!” one of them screams, smashing the gun once more against his skull.

And the world around him goes black.

* * *

~***~

“Arise dear Doctor, your fate awaits you.”

The tone of the voice is soothing at best, and if he didn’t remember almost instantly what had happened before the darkness had swallowed him whole, the Doctor reasons he would have allowed it to wrap around his aching skull and mend his wounds.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.” The Doctor answers, lifting his head to meet the eyes of the being that is stirring him. A Glarecox general stands beside his crumpled form, at the snake-like alien’s attention stands above and in front of him. Rose had been right; this Ouroboros did match their earthly legends. Reptilian in nature, the thin mouth of the being before him curved into a peaceful smile. They are surrounded by the whitewashed walls of the main floor of Torchwood. The last place he wants to be at the moment. He’s almost sure he knows why they had brought him here now. It was psychological abuse meant to confuse him and put him off his game.

And it worked.

“We all have fates Doctor, and I sleep at night with the choices I have made. Can the same be said for yourself?”

“Just because you can sleep at night committing many crimes against humanity and other species does not mean that you’re justified. It just means you are without compassion.”

“Compassion? Was it compassion that rescued my kin when your kind killed them brutally? You don’t believe that I am Ouroboros, but you are sadly mistaken. This is what an angel who has fallen out of the grace of its God will look like.”

“You talk of Gods and angels, devils and demons. Every civilization has similar beliefs; you are not the only race to worship justice and purity. Time Lords were known to admire the Ouroboros, when did—”

“When you went to war with Davros! When your narrow focus grew even narrower in pride and honour. When instead of working to find peace or neutrality, such as the Ouroboros did, you chose in your universe, to hit the button, rendering everyone either of us loved, dead.”

“You have to be kidding. You blame the Time Lords for the war? Do you seem to forget that the Daleks were killing species after species without mercy or discrimination? They would have destroyed your world!”

“Enough.” The Glarecox General interrupts. “Our leader wants to speak with the Oncoming Storm.”

The Ouroboros does not look too pleased with the intrusion of his interrogation, but he nods in agreement before stepping away from the Doctor, who still kneels on the floor.

“Tell me General, did you find the others?” The Ouroboros asks curiously.

“What others?” The Doctor inquires nonchalantly, hoping he can save his other companions.

“Don’t play stupid with us Time Lord. We knew of the others before we pulled you back to this intersection of time. We are here for the boy.”

He’s about to play it down, pretend he doesn’t know what the Ouroboros is talking about when the Glarecox speaks up.

“Confirmed. All others have been executed. Including two Time Lords, a human and an unidentified being has been loaded for transport.”

He feels the world go fuzzy around him.

Dead. All Dead except Peter and a Time Lord.

How was he going to save Peter?

Martha.

His Martha.

And who?

Who could have survived, was it Romana? Did she make it out? Why? Had she sold them all out to save her own skin?

“He was a half Time Lord, half-human, your grace,” Anais answers calmly as he traipses over to the General.

“You little… you sold us all out. All the damage, all the mystery, you set it up!” The Doctor says, trying to get up from his spot on the ground. Anais refuses to look at him, and the Time Lord can feel the younger one’s discomfort at his overwhelming anger.

“You are a disgrace, you killed your own kind! You murderer! And the innocent ones, Martha, Peter, Jack, Ro—”

“You have no place commenting on murder, Doctor.” Anais interrupts quietly, meeting his eyes coldly, “Or as you seem to often forget, you are a legendary example that _our own kind used_ as one.”

Used.

Past Tense.

They’re gone.

Murdered.

He keeps his mouth shut then, the fury and rage welling within him, his hate and disgust restrained. He feels it burble and multiply, starting in his chest and seething through his body rapidly. They throw the word around so shamelessly he feels no negative response to it anymore. He knows his rage would be considered murderous.

“Take me to your leader.” The Doctor tells them, the ones that stand before him, and they all look at each other suspiciously before the General takes him by the elbow and turns him around to lead him back inside the TARDIS. As he makes his way through the doors, the Doctor searches for who has been behind all of this.

It’s Dalek Sek.

A Dalek with a name.

He falls to his knees.

“No… No, no, it can’t be. I pulled you all into the void. You’re supposed to be dead! You’re all supposed to be dead!” He screams, unable to come to terms with what’s in front of him.

“I AM A DALEK, THE SUPERIOR RACE. I SURVIVED YOUR FUTILE ATTEMPT AT MY DEMISE.”

“Why do all of this? lead me on this wild goose chase?”

“YOU KILLED MY BROTHER DALEKS. YOU DESTROYED THE CULT OF SKARO. YOU MUST BE EXTERMINATED!”

“But why here? Why now?! What made you decide to force me back to Earth? Why not kill me quickly? It’s unlike Daleks to put this much time and effort into planning one person’s death.”

“I WANT TO SHOW YOU. SHOW YOU WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO HAVE EVERYTHING TAKEN AWAY FROM YOU. YOU WERE AT THE FALL OF ARCADIA. YOU WATCHED THE INFERIOR HUMANS BE EXTERMINATED BY THE ALMIGHTY DALEK RACE. I WANT YOU TO WATCH AS WE FINALLY EXTERMINATE ALL HUMAN LIFE.”

“But why humans! They are nothing in the grand scheme of things! They have no defences, no idea what you are. They were completely oblivious to the war in most respects, Earth never knowing what was happening in the other colonies.”

“BECAUSE YOU LOVE THEM. BECAUSE YOU CONSIDER HUMANS IMPORTANT. THE INFERIOR ONES. BECAUSE WE KNOW IT WILL HURT YOU TO SEE THEM DIE. THAT IS WHY. EARTH WILL BE INVADED. THE DALEKS WILL EXTERMINATE THEM ALL!”

“You killed Rose. You killed my friends and family because you knew that it would hurt me. You’ve kept me alive so that I know you killed them all, and now you’re going to kill the human race and make me watch.” The Doctor replies, his entire body feeling numb.

“NOW WHEN WE CAN FINALLY EXTERMINATE YOU, THE TIME LORDS WILL NO LONGER EXIST.” He’s about to tell them that that’s where they’re wrong. That there is another Gallifrey out there, that the Time Lords did survive, but the little block in his mind stops him, and not because it’s telling him he needs to protect those few who still remain. He shakes his head, his brow wrinkling in concentration at the thought.

Time Lords… They survived. It’s like a broken record on repeat, all little ideas eating away at him and causing him confusion. The déjà vu in his mind, the thing that keeps making him come back to this place, keeps trying to soothe him, but it’s finally willing to give way to see the truth.

The Time Lords could not have survived on a different world; they existed on a hub of all universes, practically the antithesis of a pocket universe, where they could all travel freely between all of the universes and even a few dimensions. But if that were true, how did Peter exist, how could Rose have met a Doctor named William?

Why hadn’t he shown up in all of this madness?

How could he have not felt other Time Lords?

How could the TARDIS fly through the void without harm and him not noticing?

How could he have slept so much through these things?

So many different things, so many inconsistencies, so many holes, so many lies to cover up more lies. Why, why was this happening? 

How did he manage to make it back here?

How could have Jack been confused by who…

“No… no, too many of what has happened doesn’t make sense.”

There are so many unanswered questions, too many gaps in this poorly written story that seems to be his destiny, their destiny. It’s like everything has finally come into focus, and he sees that the photograph in his mind’s eye is not as beautiful and tranquil as he remembered, but that there are flaws in every line, every curve. The colours are too brilliant, everything seems too forced.

He stands up against his guards, surprisingly feeling spry again. Dalek Sek nor the Glarecox stop him from his attempt to move.

Where are their bodies?   
Jack, Rose, they’re gone.   
Why would they move the bodies?

He hears singing, it’s beautiful and euphonious, which he remembers from quite some time ago.

Drawn, he follows the sound out the TARDIS door.


	26. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, and I'd like to thank you all who stuck it out and finished this fic. I am a slave to Kudo's and Comments just like everyone else so please let me know how you felt, if you'd like to see a sequel, and all that Jaaaaaazz...

_And they lived happily ever after…_

He can't see.

All that fills his vision is a brilliant pale light that no human eye could manage to gaze into. It permeates the room, radiating heat and energy before him, and he has to lift his hand to cover his face.

It's as though someone reads his thoughts, and the intensity fades, leaving him to finally see what he had been so sure he had dreamed a few moments earlier.

Rose.

Risen once more like the phoenix he had earlier compared her too. 

She's dazzling and burning, surreal and majestic. The glow that radiates from her penetrates him with warmth and a calm that he's never known. Wind whips around her, her fire-red locks swirling, her body shrouded with a long white garment. The intoning continues as he steps closer, unable to understand how this has all come to fruition.

He looks around at their surroundings; Torchwood's white walls have been replaced with the dark industrialized room of Satellite Five, where he first saw like this.

"Who…" He commences, but how does he continue? 

It's Rose. 

She stands before him, no sign of her previous broken jaw, no blood or bruises.

The blood that dripped down the needle and thread.

But she is no Snow White after all.

He stands, gazing into her fiery glow, which encompasses his loathing, the heat that finally warms the numbness. She is cauterizing a wound so hidden he had already given up hope of it ever closing. He licks his lips; the taste on them is sugar and spice, sweet and pleasant.

"Who are you?"

There is no penalty for the question, no backlash. Not like the reactions he's used to. It didn't take him long to figure out that you start opening yourself to getting hurt once you start asking questions. Whether it is with enemies or companions, it never really mattered who delivered the blow. It usually begins with a simple inquiry. 

_What is going on here?_

_What is your name?_

_Will you come with me?_

_Will you let me show you the universe?_

_Did I mention it travels in time?_

And as soon as the thought crosses his mind, the radiance of her flickers against him. His anguish is being devoured by the power, and if he wasn't so content right now, he'd be more worried.

Her lips open, a mouth that looks so tender. He wonders if the closer he gets to her, the warmer he will become.

"I am everything, and I am nothing. I am every universe, every atom of life and death. I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. I am Time."

Usually, in circumstances like this, when any entity or deity confesses something to him that doesn't fit within his concepts, he would call them out, tell them no, that it was impossible. But the Devil never reached out with such passion; he never whispered through his soul and mind, creating an inner peace laced with turmoil.

"Which is it then?" he asks, but the cocky edge he had wished to end on never makes it into his tone. Instead, the words fall out with compassion and awe at the mere sight of her.

"There is no one without the other. Both are one and the same."

"And Rose?"

"She was part of our trinity, my partner in the Bad Wolf."

"Trinity, isn't that somewhat religious in context?"

"Now now, my Doctor. My little Lord. Stray from lies and pretenses. I know that you are aware that the power of three has always held influence in my realm."

"And what fair lady, is your realm?"

"You pretend to seek answers by asking the questions, but you do not listen to the information in response. Even now, you must not deny the truth, if ever there be a moment."

"She told me she likes to be called Lemnu."

Rose's face laughs a joyous sound.

"Lemnu is her own self, but she is also us, our compromise. Rose made a pact for everyone's safety and accepted her mortality. She has surpassed her role and has become the vessel. This body is the empty shell in which we use to make contact."

He stands there dumbfounded by her. His essence is commanded as the wind dances through her bright locks, and golden light kisses her skin glimmering. He endures there before her in all her power, hearing the familiar tinkling of laughter that has echoed through his mind.

He tears his gaze from the puppet of Rose in front of him to follow the aerie music. A small child, ginger and bright, giggles at him from behind the brilliance before him. 

He knew her name once, didn't he?

As the child skips towards them, he breathes in her youthful scent, gazes at the flawlessness of her freckled skin, and the shine in her bright blue orbs—tears well in his eyes at the intense purity of the two and their light.

"And who might this be?" He inquires, another question he has always known the answer to but had been blocked from his mind.

"She is a manifestation of the Lonely God and the Bad Wolf. Your compromise. One of three."

"She's ginger." And at that, he feels the like tickle of the breeze change against him, small laughter in the air, humouring him.

"You created her in your image. Moulded her from the clays to be what you want. Conceived her in a passionate rage, and loved her in another lifetime."

"Hello, Claire."

Again he finds it all too great to take seriously, too real to believe. He tries to distance himself from this overwhelming tranquillity and comfort, tries to dig within himself to find the grief and angst that has always kept him grounded. He's forever been tormented, first as a choice, then as a title, one that he no longer cared for and wished to throw away from him.

The Doctor and Death were synonymous with each other.

That had never been a choice.

Until now.

He stares at the child, looks deep within her eyes and past the fair skin and sweet smile, to find a flaw. He reaches within to know the truth, exposes the celestial claiming to be Time as a hack, a fraud, and charlatan and any other nasty word he can think of in his haze of wonderment. More than once, it occurs to him that maybe it wouldn't be so terrible if she was a hoax. That if perhaps he believed hard enough that he could understand why he's been looking for something he's known to never really exist, he's been running from himself all these years.

"She's just the girl in the market place. Nothing more. You stole an image from my memories and are using it against me."

"Is she? Are you so sure she was even there? A thousand faces in one second, an image stored in a vault with a million others. Coincidences are purely brains and souls trying to rationalize my mistakes, my ripples—"

"Can you please stop talking about yourself as Time?" He interrupts the first spark of his own emotions coming back to him. He views as she wraps her hands protectively around the girl's shoulders, holding the young one close to her body. The child is obviously curious about him as she stares at him knowingly.

"You would rather I talk about myself in the third person? Pretend to be something I am not? Rose informed me you would have a hard time with this."

"I would rather you stop waxing poetic and get to the point as to why I am here, why you have been manipulating me, manipulating her."

She laughs at him, and this time the tinkling in her throat matches the wind's breath against his skin, the body before him convulsing and making the force surge and recede over him.

"So eager to sling words and abuses in ignorance that you choose to rest on your own shoulders. I was never the one to hide any knowledge from you. That was a task you took on yourself."

He listens to the words that flow from her for a moment before shaking his head eagerly. That would never make sense. He would never hide the truth from himself, never pretend that everything is okay long enough to believe it.

"You expect me to believe that I hid from myself the fact that Time Lords never existed in separate universes or that I chose to sleep through all your path changes?"

"Where is your psychic paper, Doctor?" She interrupts, still, no mark of frustration lingers on her words. Time seems to be patient with him.

"It's right here in my…" he replies, rummaging in his jacket pocket for bill slip carried around with him in all instances. But as he searches, confusion swarms him as he finds it is missing.

"Rose had it. She always did. You left it in your coat pocket, and she used it trying to break into the Sphere room at Torchwood. In the excitement, she never remembered to return it to you."

"That doesn't make sen—"

"How did you meet Martha?"

"She was working at Torchwood, a student trying to get her doctorate, something—"

"Wrong."

And as she says that, Martha's bright, vibrant memory of walking down the street hits him, how he removed his tie, how he had kissed her to fool the Judoon, and how she had saved his life when he had been willing to stay down and in his misery.

"What…" he starts, realizing he's kneeling on the floor. The warmth lifts him to his feet, the weight on his shoulders feeling even lighter.

"Why did you end up giving Martha a fair chance as your companion?"

"Because she had lost her cousin and her boyfriend during the Torchwood raids, and we had a fight…"

_"He's not coming back to you, you know," he tells her bitterly._

_She turns and looks at him with blank eyes. "Neither is she," she replies in a calm voice._

But he cannot finish his sentence; it's too bright, to clear of memory, he can tell it's not right somehow.

_He sits there awake while Martha slumbers quietly beside him. The night had been a long one, one that involved sending Carrionites back through the portal. He had wanted to leave almost right away, but the girl beside him had needed to rest, needed to collapse onto a bed for a few hours after all her energy had been drained from her._

_Not with Rose, they would have been gone in a heartbeat._

_Sighing, he gets up from the bed, slowly exiting the room, never once looking back to see if Martha felt his departure. He stalks down the hall, light as a feather but burdened with memory and doubt. He's completely immersed in his own thoughts when a door to his left opens, waking him out of his reverie._

_"William, I apologize. Did I wake you?"_

_"How could one sleep after tonight's events?" is the reply, light and charming. The Doctor continues to stare; his cheery mask does not seem to fool the brilliant human, so he doesn't insult him by donning it._

_"May I ask Doctor, why you, with a beautiful woman and the power to expel witches wander the night so forlorn?"_

_He sighs, looking back towards his room before meeting Shakespeare's eyes._

_"Beauty has little to do with it. I feel that I'm replacing one for the other."_

_"A beautiful woman for another beautiful woman?"_

_But he stays quiet against the question, afraid to open up to this charming linguist. Worried, he may just use the right words to cast his daemons away and make them long forgotten, and he has grown attached._

_"Just remember, friend, A Rose by any other name would smell as sweet," Shakespeare says, the Doctor looking up at him in shock before the bard strokes his beard and looks away. "You must be a muse, sir, for I fear I shall have to use that one as well."_

His body rages as a strangled scream rips from his throat.

'Mind over matter,' after all.

His hearts beat raucously against his ribcage, sweat lining his brow. The warmth is no longer comfortable, but instead burning him, biting at his exterior, slowly corrupting it in its intensity.

"Shall I show you more? Should we discuss how Rose could have ever known about River Song in the first place? How Donna Noble comes back into play?"

"No! Please..." He gulps for air, "No more... false ones. Say I believe you, say that you are Time, and I did hide some... Realities from myself, why the false memories? Why did I choose this particular path?"

"One possibility out of an infinite stream of others. You know me, intimately, my little Lord, know me from end to beginning, all my hidden secrets, my curves and flaws. All there is was and ever could be."

_"Does it hurt?" She asks, still checking the surface of his palm._

_"Yes." He answers softly._

_She brings his palm to lips and gently presses them along the angry red line._

_"Does that help?" She whispers._

"You were there."

Time simpers at him, "I have always been there, but I would be deceitful to suggest I didn't have some sway in that situation."

"Did Rose ever have any choice?"

"Have I not been clear? Claire? Have you not shown him?"

Clair squints her eyes at him and nods. "He knows. He's just obstinate."

"No, I'm not!" The Doctor creaks out, "I'm so tired, I feel like I've been in this loop for eons, I've lost track. It's just why go through all the trouble?"

"Why does any being with the capability to _feel_ do anything?" Time challenges.

"I got too close," he murmurs, "when I lost her, I lost a piece of myself. But still… I had lost her. Even in my false memories, I still lost her. Why go through all that troub—"

"Doctor, you are not this ignorant." She waits for him to reflect.

"You chose this path of memories because it was easier to believe you could not come back for Rose. You chose this because... you would rather think that Martha needed you, that she needed your help with being able to read thoughts, instead of the possibility that you could **_move on._** That you always do. You must. It's in your nature."

He meets her eyes apologetically. "I chose to walk away because it is what I will always do, it is all I know how to do, and this time, just this once, it broke something inside of me to have to do so. But why would I come back then? I've searched through alternate universes to find h—"

"All coincidence, if I had been trapped in anyone else, you would have found your way to them. Rose was merely the vessel." She interrupts.

"But… I love her."

"Has that ever stopped you from leaving before?"

"If it's what I **always do,** is it ever really _my_ choice?"

A quietness descends between them, the song still ringing in his ears, Claire's curious eyes falling on him, knowing his soul inside and out in those large blue orbs. This is to be his daughter. Rose had been pregnant when she died. It makes his body go cold against the warmth beating against him.

"Why did you bring me to Torchwood of all places?"

"It is a moment in time that had to happen in all instances—a cornerstone where there was no other option to stop the separation from happening. In almost every case, you two lost each other at this building. At this moment. Just like in all instances of Satellite Five, she takes me in and saves you. Any remembrance of that not happening is a false memory."

The Doctor tries to reflect; he senses a moment in his past where a Rose said differently, but his exhaustion is so great, he feels like a sieve. Nothing outside this moment is genuine.

"So, you admit that you can loop back over onto yourself?"

"Of course, I do not deny my unpredictability. I know how ruthless and without regard, I can seem." She whispers to him, bursts of beautiful scents invade his thoughts, causing confusion and disorientation. If he conceived with Rose, and the events that had occurred in his life never took place, he wonders about Rose's past.

"We are not that different, you and I. While waiting, I had to continue on in a tangent and impossible universe. One that will eventually die, for it was never meant to be. I created it just to keep her sane while I waited for you to come back. I was trapped in her body, a huge part of myself lost to human emotion, physical pleasure and pain. I gave her immortality the moment we met when we made our covenant, and in return, she gave Jack the same. Other than that, most of what happened to Rose was a fabrication."

"William, Peter never existed?"

"So straight forward, so narrow-minded. Is it so hard to believe that Peter existed without you being there to bring him into this universe? Peter's soul was the same as hers," she says, gesturing down to Claire. "I sent them both in good faith to watch over Rose. Claire Metaphysically and Peter, well... Peter, I gave a taste of a corporal form, part of his destiny for what he must endure the next time he visits."

"The next time."

"I will tell you, eventually, as only I can."

"So, Martha never had any telepathic abilities." It's a statement falling from his lips, not a question.

In front of him, Time shakes her head sadly, a look of deep regret in her eyes. "You took Martha along of your own accord, not my interference. She was always _your_ choice. For you could have gone another route to winning Rose back in the moments left at Torchwood. Where there was a will, there is a way."

"How can you say that? When you must have known, I have never stopped thinking of her."

"You have no reason to lie to me or yourself anymore, Doctor. Rose and our counterpart, the Bad Wolf, can no longer hear you, no longer be hurt by your abandonment. It means nothing to me either way whether you returned to her or not."

"Again, from her dead lips? How can you use her like a marionette and have no regard for her soul?" At the mention of lips, he licks his own, the sight of hers daunting and plump, jading his own anger and sorrow over the loss of the ones he's loved so dear. Whatever power the being in front of him has, it is more than he is used to, more than he can bear, and he's doing all he can to try and fight the tranquillity she makes him feel. Unconditional love, for the monster he is, was, and sometimes can be.

"I know her soul very well. We shared facilities for quite some time. She loved you with all her heart and was more than willing to give her life for this moment."

"And what moment would that be?"

"Why, your defining moment."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Its meaning lies in an answer to a future question, one that will explain all."

"And that question is?"

"When it's right."

"So you won't tell me?"

"Your reputation for impatience precedes you."

"What happened to the Dalek and the Glarecox, the Ouroboros?" He asks, changing the question in hopes of being able to keep the conversation going. He has no idea what will happen when it's done since it's evident that the being in front of him is the one in control of the situation, and every time he stops speaking, he thinks of her beautiful hair and lips, the shine of her skin, the warmth that makes him feel like he's sinking in quicksand. The child at her feet is his daughter.

"All puppets. I rid _this_ existence of them."

"Deus ex Machina." He whispers, not intending for her to hear.

"There you go again about religion. There are no tangles. All that has happened with my threads have been of my own free will."

"What am I suppose to say?"

"Anything that you need to. This is our space. It is for you and I to finally understand each other."

He thinks about this for a moment, searching inside himself, wondering what there is left to ask, what there is left to say, and the question is so simple, almost as simple as the Face of Boe's message now remembers. There is something else, a Dalek, another Time Lord, his title nearly as daunting as his own. But if he is to believe her, to completely give up his reigns, he knows now that it doesn't even matter what has happened; what is happening now is what he has to focus on.

"Why?"

She smiles and nods her head in recognition of the question, and at that moment, he realizes it's the one she's been waiting for from the very beginning. Three letters, one word. The powerful ones are always simple, though.

"Because. Because I want to. Because when you took me inside you the last time, you left an impression on me. A Lonely God. I knew how that felt. I want to give you what you've always wanted. A way to change things. A way to go back and make it all right."

"I was once offered that by the Krillitane once. They had almost solved the Skasis Paradigm. I could have been a God then could have altered history and time. What makes you think I won't turn away from the offer again?"

"Because the Krillitane offered you the _title_. Made it sound like you would have to maintain a balance, that you would constantly be in control. I offer you one opportunity to make things _right_. I will never burden you with full knowledge or pain. I would never force you to keep it all to yourself. Do you really think that I would allow the Krillitane to break the Skasis Paradigm? Please, little Lord, you think so little of me."

"Please stop calling me that."

She grins once more, the tilt of her head, showing respect and understanding. She will not call him little Lord again, even if he is one compared to her brilliance.

"I wanted to come home. Rose wanted to go home. You and the TARDIS are home. Sharing with Rose has left me less lonely, the burden of agelessness in a mortal universe eased. I want to ease your burdens. The question still stands, just what is it you want, Doctor? What, in all of space and history, do you wish you could change? There are no consequences, no repercussions, no monster or evil to stand in your way. It is only you and I here, no tricks. No limitations. Create the universe the way you wish it to be, and then so it shall be, and forevermore with me by your side."

"With you by my side."

"That was my goal, yes."

"How can you be so sure? How can you know I won't screw it all up? How can you just assume that I want to make the universe better or different than how it is? Why did you pick me?" The desperation in his voice overpowers the sickeningly soft vibrations and power of the room, tainting it.

"Because we love you. Rose, the Bad Wolf and I."

"You're not capable of love."

"So quick to assume. I have always loved you. The recognition began once stuck in human form when Rose accepted me. You strayed from the path, but you still made it."

Sighing, the tears streaming, the last of the fight that was left in him gone. He approaches the two, slowly but surely, before kneeling down to the child at the dress's hems.

"I saw you in the market, pushed you on that swing in the meadows."

"I didn't mean to trick you, just lead you to the light so you could see." A small smile playing across Claire's delicate features.

"You're ginger, but are you rude?" He murmurs, more to himself than the child before him. She wraps her arms around him, pressing her nose into the crack between his neck and shoulder. He pushes her to himself, absorbing her into his body, the love he has for her, realizing that he is not alone; she is now with him in his core.

He stands to face Time now, Claire no longer wandering at their feet. They are finally alone. No inhibitions, no consequences, no one else but time and space.

"I can have anything, _anything_ I want?" he asks her cautiously, so close to her that he can breathe her in, the weight of her presence pushing against his chest, although they have yet to touch.

"Yes." She softly tells him, the gaze of her eyes a hopeless longing that he finds himself falling undone under. "As long as I can be back with you, in the TARDIS, you get one complete re-altering of the fabric of me that I can provide."

"I want _everyone_ alive and safe. All of them, Time Lords, Martha, Jack."

"It is done."

He glances around; his first impulse is to try and find them, to see if this can all be real if this could possibly be true. His eyes stay idling on the TARDIS doors when she interrupts his thoughts.

"Martha will be sleeping in her quarters. Jack returned to the Earth he once knew, only now a mortal. Remember, many things that you have experienced in your universe and time stream may not have occurred, and therefore I am returning everything to the state that it was meant to be."

He nods, turning to meet her eye again. "And the Time Lords? What about Gallifrey? The Citadel? The Daleks?"

"You asked for everyone alive. I cannot pick and choose when it comes to the right fabric of time. Gallifrey burns brightly to the north. You shall be pleased to see that it's autumn this time of year. The silver leaves are turning gold before falling. They will be expecting you."

"What about Rose?"

The quietness surrounds them too thick and hollow to bear. He feels a thread of worry at her pause.

"I'm sorry, my Doctor, that is one thing I cannot give you."

"I figured that you weren't completely all-powerful. I knew you couldn't give me everything I've ever wanted."

"If I were to give you Rose, I would be vanquished from this body. I would no longer be capable of maintaining the universe that you have created, and you'd be left to fend for yourself, to possibly get tangled in the timeline again."

"That I can live with, but I want Rose. I want her just the way she used to be. Happy and safe. I want her how she was before I lost her."

"Even still, there is no way I could give you that. It does not change the fact that she absorbed me when she tried to save you from Satellite Five.

Even if I were to expel myself from her completely, her body is beyond repair for mortality. You would be returning the gift she gave for you, her life."

He cries; the universe he had hoped to perfect is still missing that final piece, Rose's soul and presence, to make it complete. Rose, his Rose. She finally will be gone. He must let go. He looks back up into her eyes and see them burning brightly with tears, the lips so round and rouge quivering slightly in sorrow.

"This is your choice? The compromise you wish to strike?" She asks him.

"There is a price, a piece of you as well. Myself, and Rose, I will not be able to control Lemnu."

He nods fervently.

_"As you wish."_

And taking a breath in, she leans in to press herself against him, press those lips along his own, the power and force behind her whipping around them in grandeur and radiance. The power of their union, causing stars to fade and new ones to be made. Supernova's to burn up, and Atlantis to sink. Heat dances along his skin and heart, and he is finally soothed, his pain finally revealed to him and closed up. A scar that will fade away over time.

 _Goodbye, my Doctor,_ he hears whisper through his mind, the brush of her curls, tickling his cheeks as he takes her in his arms and pulls her closer.

_I hope that this is what you want._

And as heavens and worlds are formed, as stars collide in a deep dark sky. As children of men and aliens alike learn their first words or take their first steps. As some beings take their last breath as newborns gasp in their first, rawly. As the luminosity begins to fade all around him, he hears Time whisper his name once more, a name that he had not heard in hundreds of years, but one that slips out of his mind as it drifts out and away from him.

Just like the sea.

~***~

* * *

"How is she?" The Doctor asks with kindness in his voice, looking across the gardens, the amber glow familiar but distant. He looks past Romana to a blonde woman sitting motionless on a swing. In this light, all he can see is this silhouette of her distant figure. He's sure that she demanded it just to sit there in a tree of golden leaves and deep brown bark. 

"She's _adapting_. The changes in her body are what we've been keeping an eye on. The baby, though, seems to be healthy. I can only imagine the trauma she is going through, knowing she can never go back to the life she remembers. What any of us will eventually remember, that is."

"Does she know?"

"It's hard not too," Romana replies, watching as the young woman kicks her heels into the ground to push into a swinging motion. 

He nods, "Two heartbeats are decidedly different feeling from one, most would presume."

"Why do I have a feeling that you're behind this?" Romana inquires, a hint of deference in her voice. But she stands her ground, her chin high, not a glimpse of recognition in her eyes. At this moment, he questions how much she has forgotten.

"Because I'm always behind it." He responds cheekily, his hands placed in his pockets, a soft smile breaking out on his face. But his eyes tell a different story as they so often do. One of weariness and resign that he knows he can no longer hide.

He tries to recall it, the sheer magnificence and warmth of her presence, and yet as the seconds continue to pass like a constant ticking of a clock in the back of his mind, the less he remembers of her, of Time. It has only been a few short days since he awoke back on his home planet, a few short hours since he realized that **only** he and Martha remembered anything at all, only to recognize that Martha's beginning to forget it faster than he was, a quickness he longed for.

Bits and pieces, hour by hour.

Something about the Time War?

"The eye of the storm," he murmurs aloud, unaware of Romana shaking her head at him, a perplexed look etched into her face's deepening lines. But it does not shock him in the slightest. There will be many eyes, of many storms soon to follow until this blends in with the rest of his ever-changing memories. When he finally does notice that she still is staring at him, he begins to realize just how old she's beginning to look, much different from the young Time lady he ran off to Paris with all those years ago. He focuses on her silver hair braided through her golden blonde tresses, and it's then he realizes he made the right choice. Rose is safest with the wisest of them all; he's always trusted Romana, hasn't he?

"Doesn't she have family? A home to go to?" Romana inquires.

"Perhaps a mother, quite possibly a father, though I'm not quite sure of that at the moment, and at least a good friend. But she is no longer a human by definition, and I fear for her safety and the child's safety. I don't want anything to happen to her, and we know I'm prone to uncanny circumstance swaying towards the more than slightly dangerous."

"True. My chaos incarnate." She smiles at him wistfully, "of course, I see how that could make matters more complicated, I'm sure, a half Time Lord child on Earth."

He sighs, "I'm trying to be rational about the circumstances and do what is right instead of what I want. But of course, I'll check. Regardless of the outcome, I'll keep you posted. I find it rather irritating I have to voice that."

"Communication isn't one of your strong suits, in any echo of the tapestry."

"So I've been told. _I'm trying._ "

"Yes, but you are leaving," Romana sighs, "and that's very _you._ "

"And what would you have me do with Martha? Hmm? Drop her off with a cheerio and pop back off to fulfill my every desire with some-" he trails off...

"Consolation prize version of the woman I love?" 

Romana tilts her head at him.

"Are you to suggest that Rose is not Rose any longer?"

The Doctor looks down towards her still at the swing, reflecting on the few conversations that he and Rose have had in the last few days that have been stilted and confusing at best.

"I don't know." He answers honestly. "It's not like it matters, but there is something entirely off about this whole scenario. And I tend to bring out the worst in all of us."

"And the best." Romana offers.

"But sometimes, in many situations in our life, there needs to be levity. I am not that levity." He ruminates. "Not yet, at least. Pregnancy is a delicate matter." 

They begin to a slow crawl along the cliff line.

"I presume the only thing left to say is congratulations. Maybe there is hope for us yet." She murmurs, turning to watch as Rose pushes herself backwards and forwards on the swing.

Another moment passes quietly on in its simplicity, and he thinks of the miraculous return of the home planet he has secretly always treasured so dear. It has always been within him to push away the things he loved most of all; Gallifrey, Susan, she who sits so prettily behind him on the swing.

"Does she remember anything?" the Doctor asks, breaking the taciturnity between them. Romana stares at him in wonder and questioning, a look that he reads too well. She wonders if he has had the decency to talk to Rose himself or is he just trying to fill the quiet. He can tell she is not too sure what to believe. She already forgets the conversations they had when he first woke up; they will continue to erase until he leaves, and everything is restored to order.

"She says she was back at a place she calls Satellite Five, and she saw you come towards her, a glow about you. She remembers an intimate moment exchanged and then… nothing. Tell me, what really did happen out there, Doctor? What adventure did you get up to this time that brought me back an expecting ex-human? One who is not born Gallifreyan but has somehow become one, and now is carrying a Time Lord child?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He murmurs, looking down at Martha as they reach her. She stands up and brushes her knees off before smiling somewhat shyly at Romana.

"Martha, this is the President of Gallifrey, Romanadvoratrelundar, but you can call her Romana."

Both women shake hands, a distance that only strangers possess, and it makes him smile sadly. It seems Martha has already forgotten their once tentative bond. Soon she will forget this place as well.

"Thank you, Romana, for everything you've done." He tells her, his own hand lingering in hers when she moves to hold his, and he means it with the greatest sincerity.

"I'm not quite sure what I have done, Doctor, other than help you reclaim your rights on Gallifrey. Though I must warn you if you wish to reclaim your name and birthright, you will have to be present for a re-induction ceremony."

He looks down the hill of red grass and into the valley, past Rose's silhouette and out to the mountain range, the suns both burning brightly in the sky. Sighing, he watches the girl swing back and forth, her dress fluttering as she does so before looking back down into Romana's eyes.

"No. I am the Doctor now, and I know myself."

She nods her head just the once at him before nodding to Martha and walking away. Both Martha and the Doctor watch the elder Time Lord walk out towards the trees and Rose. Taking one last deep breath, the Doctor turns to Martha and nods.

Both begin to walk back to the TARDIS in quiet, a heavy silence falling between them before Martha begins.

"You know, it won't be so bad. It's going to be nice to see my family and to finally finish my residency."

"So we are going back to Earth then? Though I'm not going to lie, I'm not really planning to stay that long, so after you finish, maybe we can—"

"What are you talking about?"

"What are YOU talking about?" He asks, turning to his companion and looking at her in wild confusion. They stop where they are, Martha looking up into his eyes with hurt and misunderstanding.

"I thought…" she trails off, looking back down towards Rose, who is now being helped by Romana back towards the city. "I thought now that you finally found Rose, you'd be probably having her around more often. You know, go on vacation, especially since my one trip was up more than a while ago." She smiles so brightly back, a shine that is not happiness burning in her eyes.

She places her hands in her pockets as she says this; the insecurity she feels makes her modest, and moments like these, he forgets she's not psychic, nor has ever been. But it will be one more thing to forget as Time continues to heal itself. The memories are falling away each minute that passes until everything that makes sense will be all that is left settled into place.

"Well, adventures big or small aren't really ideal for a baby. So I figured we may as well go get a few good ones in before we come back." A small truth and a little lie mixed together in a nonchalant answer. He doubts she'll ever come back this way with him, but she doesn't need to know that quite yet. He knows once this is tucked away correctly, he's only going to disappoint her. 

He's foreseen it like he always does.

He continues to walk towards his ship but doesn't feel her presence beside him, so he turns back to see her still standing there.

"What?"

"I don't get you. All you've ever done was want to get her back, and if you weren't talking about Rose, I could see in your eyes you were thinking about her. Then, you tell me you're the last of the Time Lords, and if I'm to believe your not a liar and instead time is some sort of space yarn, it would seem to me, another huge indication that maybe, just maybe you'd like to stay to rekindle some old relationships. You have everything you could ever want. The girl who got away, the planet that you have missed for years, your entire race healthy and alive. They're even dropping the fact that they exiled you, making it so you can come and go as you please."

"And?"

"And why are you leaving this all behind to travel with me?" she challenges him, exasperated.

He looks down the hill to where Rose sits motionlessly on the swing. Traces of a conversation that he is supposed to or has already had with her whisper against his memories.

_He stands behind her, his trainers kicking up dust into the air, her bare feet tracing patterns in the dirt below her. He is about to speak when he hears her voice for the first time since he watched her killed._

_"Swanning off then?" Rose asks him, trying to sound cheerful to no avail._

_He is startled by the comment and comes closer to stand near the swing. He tries to look at her expectant face but finds that it's too hard for him to do and begins to stare down at his dust-covered shoes, the sun shining brightly down on her beautiful features. To him, she's glowing, and it's not the pregnancy, and it's not the leftover traces of Time leaving her body; it's her._

_It's just as simple as that, she is his Rose, and she can glow all on her own._

_"Belle, I just wanted to tell you what her name will be."_

_"Oh, decided then, have you? Don't I get a say?" she asks, looking up and into his squinting eyes._

_"No, I'm just telling you as someone who can see possibilities into the future that we already decided later on that that would be her name, and I'm just trying to save you some grief in the process."_

_"Of course."_

_"Well, I'm glad to be of service," he says, placing his hands in his pockets, still gazing down on her, the bright light creating a halo around her body._

_"There's only one flaw in your story, Doctor?"_

_"And what might that be?" he asks._

_"That I too now can see all that is, all that was, and all that ever could be, and therefore I know how we agree on the name We don't," she tells him, never once looking up to see his delicate smile fade from his visage._

_"You are a trickster, sir." She murmurs, and it's supposed to sound fun and in mockery, but is said too softly to not be taken seriously. "Claire and I are both aware."_

_"Rose," he starts, trying to think of a way to explain to her what he knows, "I never meant for this to—"_

_"I know." She cuts him off, and there's no resentment in her voice, no anger there that he can detect. "I don't condemn you in the slightest. But I'm not going to pretend I'm not the least bit petrified by all these new developments."_

_"Yes, but they are good developments Rose! Excellent developments don't ever once think that I am unhappy with them."_

_"But how could you be? This is exactly what you've never wanted." She asks, her voice no louder than a whisper._

_"And what I'd fight to the death to keep safe." He tells her, coming up behind the swing and placing his arms around her shoulders. He leans his chin on her forehead._

_"Does the names Elle or Peter mean anything to you?" She asks him, and he answers her truthfully._

_"If you mean in relation to us, then no, I'm sorry they don't. Or I don't remember."_

_She nods, sighing. "They just keep whispering through my brain, one of the aftershocks, I suppose."_

_"Nothing in life is planned, Rose. That is the beauty of time itself. Everything that is meant to happen does. Whether you want it to or not, things will go the way they are supposed to, even if they don't. Time will find a way to make it right again. You will learn that by being a Time Lord, you will always be changing your thoughts, and memories will always distort to find a new pattern, a new way for all the things that happen to fit. That is the curse of knowing everything that is and will be. You will never truly be sure what was."_

_He sighs then, "and sometimes that will make you seem ruthless or uncaring, but I understand. We all do, and they will teach you."_

_"Is that why you cannot remember either? How we got here? How this happened to us? One minute I was being sucked towards the void, watching you with arms outstretched and then it goes black. After that, it was like I was back to Satellite Five, watching you die over and over. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in an infirmary bed. And you were in one too, weren't you? Beside me? On a planet that I thought was—"_

_"Rose, I thought it was gone too. But then you came along. You saved me. You saved me then on Satellite Five, and **you** ended the Time War right there, and then you brought back my people. _

_Then it seems you did it again. And, if I'm, to be honest with you," he ponders, scratching his head, "I think you're meant to do it again. And you did it_ — _do it all for one reason, one reason that most of the people who reside on this rock perceive to be **below** them. _

_You did it out of love._

_You Rose, barely older than a child to them, from a little planet so secluded in this dimension that it doesn't become a significant galactical presence until the last half of the universe's bronze age. You're not a president or a world leader, just a human who loves chips and a laugh. You like to sleep in late on Sundays, and you love your mum fiercely even though she's insane and overbearing. Rose, who has never had much, but if she had one pound to her name, she'd give away two._

_You save everyone._

_You saved me._

_You saved me because you loved me. You had a level of power that no one in the universe, not even I, have dreamt of. The ability to destroy and create in the blink of an eye, and you used it to lead me back to you. You brought back my planet and are giving me a child, and that Rose is all I can provide you. It's all the truth I have. That you are magnificent. Fantastic. That I love you unconditionally and so much that it is painful to know that I should not be here for this, that what I bring to our partnership cannot be right for you or Ellaclaire. Not at least until you have more agency in your own life."_

_"And it's a truth, that in time… I will forget because new memories will form, and it will be like no time at all has gone missing." Rose says, and it's more of a statement than a question._

_"Precisely, and in time I will forget too. Maybe not as fast as you, but I will, and all that has happened will be just another adventure that we had and escaped, and it will not seem like everything has changed so fast."_

_They stay there in silence for a moment, his arms still resting around her shoulders, her own hands still wrapped around the rope from her swing._

_"So time just marches on, does she? Never stopping for anyone? Always doing as she pleases? Muddling up even the best-laid plans?"_

_"That's right."_

_"She must get lonely then. Because if our memory is always changing, that means that only she holds the knowledge of what really did and didn't happen."_

_He stands quietly, thinking about her words and the wisdom from her insightful look at things. It's partly why he's drawn to her so much. Because she always has an answer that makes him think, an idea that seems fresh to him. It may not be original. It may not be something drastically different, but her delivery always gets to him for some reason._

_"You talk as though Time is a living entity."_

_"But she is, isn't she? You taught me that." She answers, her hands slowly sliding up the swing to hold his hands in her own._

_The stay that way for what seems to be forever before she drops her hands from his, and he takes a few steps back; the ticking at the back of his head is getting worse, and it's time for him to say what he has come down here to tell her._

_"I have to—"_

_"I know." She interrupts him._

_"It's not you, it's just that—"_

_"I know."_

_"I'll be—"_

_"I know."_

_He sighs and shakes his head at the awkwardness of the situation, scratching his neck's back with his left hand._

_"You know, I thought this would have been a harder conversation."_

_"Go. Do what you need to do."_

_"I can't aban—"_

_"I know."_

_"I have to check to even see if Jackie an—"_

_"I know. But don't forget, I know your hearts, your soul. All very valid. But we both know you can't sit still."_

_"I know."_

_"And that while I agree, the TARDIS is no place to give birth, that it is my home, her home, as much as yours."_

_"I know."_

_"So come back, yeah? Be a better space-dad than most sci-fi tends to imagine."_

_He nods and then realizes that she won't be able to see the affirmation from where she's sitting._

_"I won't. I will be back. I swear it."_

_He begins to walk away from the swing, a sinking feeling going on through his chest, but with every step, he takes further, away from her, the lighter they are, until he takes a moment to turn around and see her again standing a few meters away._

_"My mum was right, you know." She quietly tells him, her voice barely above a murmur. He is about to ask her about what before he thinks better of it and waits for her to explain._

_"She said, one day that I'd keep on changing, and that in time there'd be a woman, a strange woman some planet a billion miles away from Earth and she wouldn't be Rose Tyler. Not anymore. Not even human."_

_And with that, he begins to walk away._

The Doctor looks back to Martha, who continues to stare at him incredulously and thinks for a moment what to tell her; If he should explain that leaving is in his blood, and even with the ability to come back for Rose, and the fact that Gallifrey still exists that he still longs to be free. He thinks about how to tell her that she means more to him than he'll ever know and that one day she and Rose will get along just fine, just as they did in the past, a past she does not remember anymore.

Or maybe they won't.

He won't remember by then.

He thinks about telling her that Rose does not hate her or blame her for stealing him away, so she needn't worry.

Or that they still have adventures they have to go on, still have people to meet for penance before he can settle down and forgive himself for all his indiscretions. 

He contemplates telling her the truths that border on excuses about his chaos and sheer luck being a difficult situation for any infant. He even considers telling her that she'll be leaving him the next time they do part, which will be long forgotten in time. Her decision, not his, as she enters a house on a planet far from here, to greet Leo and her mother, relieved they're alive.

But instead, the Doctor looks down into her dark black eyes, sees the confusion and the hope there and knows that the simplest of words have always held the most power.

"Rose is my past, and she may very well be my future. But you, Martha, are my present, which is all that matters. Now let's get going. I know exactly where I want to go next." He tells her before walking through the TARDIS doors and waiting for her to walk through behind him.

"Oh yeah, and just where is that?" she asks him, her hands in her back pockets as she watches him dash around the TARDIS console with energy and delight.

"We're going to go have tea with an old friend of mine. Tell me, Martha, have you ever met a real Captain before?"


End file.
